illilii?''' 



;ai|:|i|i|:!i::ii:^i;p^: 


'v;?:: ::;■■;'■ ■•v'.' I'' 


sl^ili 




H!Xff;H:J>:i 


l!Bi;'^R9 



■ 

; 
; 






ORG 




Glass 



BookJ^ 



A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 




A FAVOURITE 
OF NAPOLEON 

MEMOIRS OF MADEMOISELLE GEORGE 



EDITED, FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT, BY 

PAUL CHERAMY 



New York 

THE JOHN McBRIDE COMPANY 

Publishers 

1909 



^YJr/'. 



ar 






PREFACE BY THE EDITOR 

It is always tiresome to speak about oneself. I 
am, however, obliged to do so at the beginning of 
this preface. Some people will doubtless be aston- 
ished to see the memoirs of an actress published 
through the care of a man who for many years 
has been invested with grave duties — solicitor to 
the Civil Courts of the Seine, and even in 1893 
president of the Society of Solicitors. Two words 
of explanation are necessary to dissipate this 
surprise, and palliate the seeming contradiction. 

From my childhood I was received by Alexandre 
Dumas, whose son became much later one of my 
most intimate friends. Through the author of 
Monte Crista I was enabled to either listen to or 
know the greatest actors and actresses of that age : 
Frederick Lemaitre, Rachel, GeofFroy, Melingue, 
Laferriere, Rouviere, Augustine and Madeline 
Brohan, and many others besides. My taste for 
the theatre took date from that moment. 

A little later a love of painting was awakened 
within me. I had a friend, a young painter, a 
pupil of Henri Lehmann. We used to pass all the 
days of my leave together at the Louvre. Finally 
music, which has become one of the passions of 



vi PREFACE 

my life, called me to herself. I was not yet a 
Wagnerian, for Richard Wagner was unknown in 
Paris. I remember the interminable waits I im- 
posed on myself at the Opera, in the rue Le Peletier, 
to get a good place in the pit to listen to one of 
Meyerbeer's works, which sufficed then for my 
admiration. 

With these artistic tastes and an insatiable need 
of reading I reached the Law Courts. Chance — 
a happy chance — made a solicitor of me in 1853. 
That I was a little different to my strict confrh^es 
it would be useless to deny. But I knew law, I 
loved an action, and had a business sense and 
instinct, a certain gift of observation, a great 
memory, and a facility for work, which I have 
preserved even in my old age. I believe, too, that 
far from harming me, my artistic and psychological 
faculties have helped me very much. Whatever 
may be the reason of it, my continuous success 
for forty years has surpassed my hopes and feeble 
deserts. 

To-day the hour for retirement has struck. I 
return to my studies and tastes of former days, 
though, to speak more strictly, they have never left 
me. For my old age I have a last ambition : 
certainly not the proud pretension of becoming a 
writer. After sixty years one does not acquire the 
talent of style. I should just like to tell my con- 
temporaries, in the most simple way in the world, 
a little of what I know, of what I have seen and of 
what I think on certain subjects. I shall take a 



PREFACE vii 

pleasure in obliging myself not to bore too much 
those who are kind enough to read and listen 

to me. 

After this long preamble, I return to Mile. 
George. When I bought her manuscripts my 
friends made me promise to pubhsh them. Up to 
now I have never had the leisure or opportunity 
of doing so. Now I am going to keep my promise. 
I begin with these amusing Memoirs the various 
publications which I should like to leave behind 
me, if nature, who has been clement to me, still 
allows me for some time strength and health. 

At the outset let us describe what these Memoirs 
are, what is their origin and history. 

It was on January 31, 1903, that I bought 
the manuscript at a pubhc sale. This sale was 
very curious. Together with the memoirs of 
the actress, all sorts of tragic tinsel figured: 
the crowns of Rodogune, Merope, Marguerite 
de Bourgogne, Semiramis, IVIarie Tudor, which 
M. Paul Meurice redeemed and presented to the 
Comedie-Fran^aise. There was also the library, 
or rather what remained of the hbrary of the 
tragedienne. The original editions of the dramas 
of Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas — Lucrece 
Borgia, Marie Tudor, Christine, la Tour de Nesle, 
which must have been given or sold during her life- 
time. However, the manuscript of Vautrin was to 
be found there, that of la Tour de Nesle, which was 
bought by M. Henry Houssaye, the very curious 
tragedies of Alexandre Soumet—Clytemnestre, 



viii PREFACE 

Norma^ Une Fete sous Neron, and his beautiful 
religious poem, la Divine Epopee, with laudatory- 
dedications. 

At first it was not very easy to sort the 
scattered leaves, a little out of order, which con- 
stituted the original manuscripts of the Memoirs. 
After having read and re-read them, compressed 
and classified them, this is how I was able to 
establish their genesis. 

They were written in 1857. Mile. George was 
then seventy. She undertook the work to gain a 
little money. At that time she was in terrible 
want. She conceived the following plan. Having, 
as she says and proves, neither style nor much 
orthography, she noted on sHps of paper the most 
interesting events of her life. She entrusted these 
leaves to one of her friends, the husband of 
Marceline Desbordes - Valmore, begging him to 
revise them and put them into "good French," 
as we used to say at school. Then to the slightly 
colourless prose of her husband Mme. Desbordes- 
Valmore was to add some of the graces, and a little 
of the poesy of her own style. 

Mile. George's first edition still exists, and we 
possess as well Valmore's work, which is very terse 
and tiresome in its monotony and conventional 
quasi-elegance. Mile. George perceived this. In 
the margin of this effort of the good rhetorician 
she noted these reflections : " A little long," " To 
be worked out," " I must speak to him about this 
and that," etc. In short, she had the good idea of 



PREFACE ix 

doing for herself what Valmore had been unable 
to realise. She re-wrote her Memoirs and made a 
cohesive work, which unfortunately ends at 1808, 
that is to say, on her departure for Russia. 

This is the curious autobiography, lively, 
coloured and attractive, with its mass of repe- 
titions and corrections, which we are publishing 
to-day, and which forms the principal part of this 
volume. 

After 1808 Mile. George has only left us isolated 
fragments, jotted down in haste, without much 
sequence or method, where several interesting details 
are still to be found, notably anecdotes about Mme. 
de Stael, her own sojourn in Sweden, and of the 
intervention of Charles X on the subject of the 
privileges of the Odeon. These fragments form 
the second part of this publication. 

In a third part we give a letter from Mile. 
Raucourt, and some letters from Mile. George, 
which we have been unable to discover elsewhere. 

In an Appendix we have incorporated a state- 
ment of the services of the actress at the Comedie- 
Fran9aise ; GeofFroy's article on her appearances ; 
appreciations by Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, 
Theophile Gautier, Jules Janin, fragments attri- 
buted to Mme. de Remusat, to the confessions of 
Arsene Houssaye, and a very curious unpublished 
letter of Victorien Sardou. 

To fix the essential dates and present the career 
of Mile. George in its entirety, from her birth to 
her death, we have compiled a biographical notice. 



X PREFACE 

which will form a sort of introduction to the 
memoirs of the actress. 

We give a reproduction of two portraits ; the 
one by Lagrenee represents her in the role of 
Clytemnestra. This picture, which hung for a 
long time in Mile. Mars' bedroom, was presented 
by us to the Comedie-Fran9aise in 1905. It figures 
in the gallery of artistes. The second portrait is 
by Baron Gerard. It is a very charming work, 
which formed part of the collection of the Countess 
Edmond de Pourtales. Her kindness, which we 
gratefully acknowledge, has allowed us to reproduce 
this extremely characteristic portrait, which will re- 
main for the future the slightly embellished and 
definite likeness of Mile. George. 

P. -A. Cheramy. 

Riva f Tyrol J, 

August 1906. 



CONTENTS 



Preface .... 


V 


Introduction 


13 


Memoirs .... 


. 35 


Loose Leaves 


. 224 


Correspondence 


. 263 


Appendix .... 


. 281 


Index .... 


. 318 



A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 



INTRODUCTION 

Eugene de Mirecourt, whose les Contemporains 
recently excited so much scandal, has consecrated 
a sympathetic and annotated little volume to 
Mile. George.^ He has certainly read Valmore's 
work, of which he reproduces whole passages. In 
their Galerie historique de la Comedie-Fi^an^aisei' 
MM. de Manne and Menetrier have written a less 
benevolent biography of the tragedienne. With 
these documents, the memoirs of Alexandre Dumas, 
articles of the period, le Monde JDi^amatique, 
Theophile Gautier's VHistoire de Vai^t dramatique, 
his Roinantic Portraits and his work on les Belles 
Femmes de Paris, it is easy to reconstruct the life 
of the woman and artiste, and trace a faithful and 
life-like portrait of her. 

Mile. Marguerite-Josephine Weymer, called 

^ Eugene de Mirecourt, les Contemporains. Portraits el silhou- 
ettes au dix-neuviane siecle, 3rd edition. Librairies des con- 
temporains, Mademoiselle George, one vol. in 32, 1870. 

"^ Galerie historique de la Comedie-Frangaise potir servir de comple- 
ment a la troupe de Talma, by E.-D. de Manne and C. Menetrier. 
Lyon, N. Scheuring, editeur, 1876. 



14 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

George, was born on February 23, 1787, at the 
Theatre of Bayeux, during a performance of 
Tarhiffe and La belle Fermiere. 

Her father, George Weymer, of German origm, 
had formed a httle nomad troupe, which went from 
to'vvTi to town playing comedy, vaudeville, and 
even tragedy. He was impixsario and chef 
d'orchestre. His wife took the parts of soubrettes. 
Her maiden name was Verteuil, and her nephew 
was for a long time secretary of the Comedie- 
Fran^aise. The father and mother of Mile. George 
were modest, conscientious, honest artistes, full of 
devotion and heart, and their daughter preserved a 
gratitude and tenderness for them which did all 
three credit. 

At five years of age Georgette Weymer appeared 
in les Deux chasseurs et la Laitih^e at the Amiens 
Theatre, of which her father had become manager. 
She soon played with the celebrated Dugazon ; 
and finally INIlle. Raucourt, who was passing through 
Amiens, was astonished at the beauty and excep- 
tional abilities of the young Weymer. She per- 
suaded her father to trust the girl to her keeping, 
and took her to Paris to give her lessons and 
prepare her for her debut at the Comedie- 
Fran9aise. 

Mile. George obtained her ordre de debut on 
November 23, 1802. She was sixteen, and made 
her debut in the part of Clytemnestra. 

The choice of this part for the debut of such a 
young girl would be inexplicable if one did not 



INTRODUCTION 15 

recall the precocious and sculptural beauty of the 
debutante. Further, Mile. Dumesnil and Mile. 
Raucourt had recognised that her vocation destined 
her for the great maternal roles of tragedy. 

AU this first part of Mile. George's career, her 
visits to INIlles. Clairon and Dumesnil, her debuts, 
the appreciation of the public, of GeofFroy, whose 
habitual severity had been disarmed by her beauty 
and talent, the rivalry with IMlle. Duchesnois, the 
good comradeship of Talma, the picture of the 
Comedie-Francaise under the Consulate, her rela- 
tions with Prince Sapieha, her amours with 
Bonaparte, all this is related in the Memoirs with 
a vivacity and a freshness of recollection which 
we are unwilling to spoil. 

Although their author makes no pretension to 
judge the marvellous period of the Consulate, the 
very simphcity of her narrative allows us to guess 
the charm of those beautiful years from 1802 to 
1804, the most beautiful perhaps which France has 
ever known. She was at last freed from the 
sectaries of the Revolution. Victorious abroad, 
France was rising from her ruins, was organising 
herself anew, and once more beginning to live and 
to hope. An intelligent and practical policy, which 
was not formed by Rousseau's school of sophisms, 
was re-establishing security, confidence, and credit 
in the interior. It was a magnificent reawakening 
of all the social forces which the Terror had sup- 
pressed and neutralised in blood and mire. How 
understandable is the admiration which the First 



16 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Consul inspired ! " He is my hero ! " cried the 
sexagenarian Sophie Arnould from her retreat at 
Paraclet. 

The enthusiasm experienced by George for the 
incomparable, immense (that is her word) being 
Bonaparte, was in accordance with the universal 
sentiment which was expressed by frantic applause 
whenever the First Consul entered his box at the 
Theatre-Fran^ais. 

On the other hand, these Memoirs are a docu- 
ment of unappreciable value, which disclose in an 
unexpected way an intimate and little-known side 
of Napoleon's character. The question has often 
been put, " What was the exact attitude of the 
Emperor towards women ? What was his manner 
of treating women ? " Rephes are contradictory ; 
and, it must be confessed, mostly unfavourable. 
Certainly he had for Josephine and IVIarie Louise 
a tenderness which amounted almost to blindness. 
But these two were Empresses : for him they were 
above their sex and above humanity. Very many 
other women passed in his life ; for, absorbed as he 
was in his political and military duties, and in his 
various labours, he was ardent and sensual. How 
did he behave with regard to those other women ? 
Stendhal has furnished us with terrible revelations. 
"He made them writhe beneath the lash of his 
contempt," he said, speaking of those "other 
women." Poor victims ! They thought they were 
marching to a triumph : they little dreamed of the 
humiliations which were awaiting them. 



INTRODUCTION 17 

" Oh, Monster ! Horrible tyrant ! " are the cries 
after hard nights of trial, of Mme. Branchu, the 
vestal of the Opera, Miles. Duchesnois, Therese 
Bourgoin, Leverd, of the Theatre-Fran^ais, and 
the ladies of the Court whom the Imperial caprice 
had seemed to distinguish for an instant. 

It must be confessed that, according to Stendhal 
and other historians, the new Caesar's manners 
were little less than those of a savage. Here we 
are far from the old French gallantry. Where 
have fled the graces of the eighteenth century? 
One can quite understand the feminine hatred, 
which, gathering secretly, burst out with fury in 
1815. The women wished for the death of the 
Emperor, not because of the conscription, as they 
said, but because of the insulting disdain with 
which he had chastised them during his reign. 

Now a question presents itself: Was Napoleon 
always so? Was this harshness towards women 
founded in the very depths of his nature ? I do 
not think so. The rudeness and violence was, to 
my mind, the unconscious result of a formidable 
tension of spirit, of superhuman toil. 

In this regard the Memoirs of Mile. George 
afford us a decisive light which will rejoice the 
heart of friends of the great Emperor. After 
having read them one can no longer doubt that 
in his time Bonaparte was a tender, thoughtful 
lover, full of juvenile ardour, as much in love as an 
officer of twenty. It is in this sympathetic and 
entirely new aspect that George reveals him — that 



18 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

immense man really loved his beautiful tragedienne, 
and let himself be charmed by her fresh, loyal 
nature. He amused himself with her artless 
chatter ; in her company he experienced a relax- 
ation of mind and a distraction which his nerves 
and brain at fever-pitch were in need of. 

He liked to frolic with George like a great child, 
to tease the superb creature who at the beginning 
of the liaison he felt was entirely his. He laughed 
at her plebeian feet, as he placed a considerable 
value on delicacy of extremities with women. 
Happily George had admirable hands, the hands 
of a queen and a child; they obtained pardon for 
her feet, which were heavy and common. It is true 
that they had no ordinary weight to support. 

Perhaps it will be said that to raise the value of her 
conquest it pleased George to exaggerate its charm ; 
that she has shown us a Bonaparte of phantasy, 
softened and embellished by the proud complais- 
ance of her recollections ? I do not believe it. 
Napoleon's tenderness for her, and consequently 
the sensibility of which he was capable, seem to 
me a point absolutely demonstrated. The liaison 
continued from 1802 to 1808. Here it is not a 
question of a simple caprice vanishing after pos- 
session, nor of an attraction entirely sensual, where 
sentiment has no part. It was a veritable affection. 
It lasted till Napoleon's death. At St. Helena he 
spoke of her whom he had formerly called his 
beautiful Georgina, or his good Georgina. 

In 1808, at the date where the Memoirs stop, 



INTRODUCTION 19 

the triumphant existence of Mile. George became 
suddenly clouded. The intrigues of MUe. Duches- 
nois, her rival, protected by M. de Remusat, became 
intolerable. The Emperor has changed ; he is no 
longer the lover of the first year of the Consulate. 
The unknown Bonaparte, who appears so full of 
charm in the Memoirs, is a little transformed with 
the grandeurs and cares of omnipotence. He is 
not separated from her, but George imagines herself 
to be nothing more than a habit to him. She 
knows that she is surrounded by rivals, and is 
humiliated at the thought of offering no more 
to her imperial lover than an intermittent distraction 
and a banal source of pleasure. 

She listened then to the offers of the Russian 
ambassador, Count Tolstoy. She was carried away 
by the insistence of her lover. Count de Beckendorf 
He had promised to marry her, but he wished first 
of all to offer her to his master, Alexander I. In 
short, yielding to a sudden caprice, which twenty- 
four hours later she will regret, she sets off for St. 
Petersburg, on the evening of the fourth perform- 
ance of Debrieu's A7iaxe7^jces, in which she should 
have played the part of Mandane (May 7, 1808). 
The performance was waited for in vain, and there 
was a great scandal at the Comedie. An order for 
the arrest of the fugitive was given, but she had 
already passed the frontier. 

At St. Petersburg her success was immense. 
She charmed the Emperor Alexander, the Dowager- 
Empress and the Grand Duke Constantine. She 



20 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

made her debut at the Imperial Theatre in the part 
of Semiramis. After the performance the Emperor 
came to her dressing-room to congratulate her. 
" Madame," he said, " you wear the crown better 
han our great Catherine." 

*' Sire, it is less heavy than that of All the 
Russias. ' The Emperor sent her a splendid cro^\Ti 
made from the model of that worn formerly by the 
Empress Catherine II. 

Another evening, after Mcrope, the Emperor, 
wiping his eyes, said to her, " These are the first 
tears I have ever shed in a theatre." 

Still, if she became Alexander's mistress, it was 
only a passing caprice. A certain party had hoped 
that George would replace Mme. Nariskine with 
the Tsar. The plan miscarried, but Alexander and 
the whole Court did not cease from loading the 
actress with attentions and presents. 

If we can believe the memoirs of the Russian 
General Lowenstein, she extended her conquests 
even among the great ladies of the Russian Court. 
That is doubtless but an ugly calumny. 

In the midst of these raptures and festivities the 
campaign of 1812 began. At St. Petersburg the 
battle of Moskow was regarded as a victory. The 
order to illuminate their windows was given to the 
inhabitants. In spite of the order George's windows 
remained closed without illuminations. " She is 
right," said the Emperor. " I do not wish her to be 
annoyed about it ; she is behaving like a good 
Frenchwoman." 



INTRODUCTION 21 

Sojourn in Russia became impossible for her. 
She kept till death her passionate cult of Napoleon. 
She could not remain in St. Petersburg to listen to 
the tale of the terrible retreat of the great army. 
Some notes tell us of her departure for Sweden and 
her arrival at Stockholm. The Prince Royal, 
Bernadotte, received her as a queen and a friend. 
She rejoined the French Army at Dresden. Napo- 
leon made her play with Talma, and the troupe of 
the Comedie-Francaise had been sent for post-haste. 
Every day she was received by the Emperor, who 
discoursed with her and Talma about the Theatre- 
Fran9ais, Corneille and Racine, on the eve of the 
battle of Leipsig. 

By Imperial decree George was restored to all 
her rights as a member of the Society. Napoleon 
even commanded that she should be paid for her 
years of absence. It was a little excessive, and, as 
M. Frederic Masson remarked, the members never 
forgave her this favour, which savoured too much 
of favouritism and arbitrariness. 

"During the Hundred Days," the eminent 
historian tells us, "she sent word to the Emperor 
that she had some papers to restore to him which 
singularly compromised the Duke of Otranto. 
Napoleon sent a trusted servant to her, and on his 
return he said : " She didn't tell you that she was 
in low water, I suppose ? " 

" No, sire ; she only spoke of her desire to restore 
the papers herself to your Majesty." 

" I know what that means. Caulaincourt spoke 



22 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

to me about it ; he told me, too, that she was in 
difficulties. You will give her twenty thousand 
francs from my purse." 

Alexandre Dumas affirms that Mile. George 
solicited the honour of accompanying the Emperor 
to St. Helena. We do not know if this is a fact, 
but it would greatly redound to the credit of the 
lover of the First Consul. In the midst of 
treasons and defections, this proof of gratitude on 
the part of an actress would have been a beautiful 
thing. 

After the fall of the Emperor, confronted with 
the Royalist hostilities of her comrades, George 
felt cruelly out of place at the Comedie- 
Fran9aise. She was dismissed by the Duke de 
Duras, superintendent of theatres, for bravely 
showing herself with a bouquet of violets in her 
corsage. The Government punished thus that 
innocent Bonapartist manifestation. 

Mile. George went to play in the provinces. 
Five years later, Louis XVIII, who was a sensible 
man, recalled her to the Comedie, and gave her 
a benefit at the Opera. She played Britannicus. 
The reception was enormous. After this triumph 
it seemed as if she ought to resume her place as a 
member of the Society. But at the hands of Mile. 
Duchesnois and her partisans she again suffered 
from the intrigues and evil practices of former 
times. She preferred to play at the Odeon Semi- 
7YimiSi 3Ierope} Clyteninestre, VOrphelin de la 

1 October 1,1822, 



INTRODUCTION 28 

Chine, les Macchabees of Guiraud.^ She afterwards 
appeared in Saul^^ Cleopdtre and Jeanne (TAfx ^ by 
Soumet. But soon a new triumphal career began 
to open out before her. 

She became the admirable interpreter of the first 
romantic dramas. She created Christine, by 
Frederic Soulie ; ^ then the Christine of Dumas ; 
line Fete sous Neron, by Soumet ; ^ la MarcchaJe 
cCAncre, by Alfred de Vigny ; ^ Jeamie la Folle, 
by Fontan.'' 

This was but the prelude of more brilliant suc- 
cesses. Under Harel's direction, at the Porte-Saint- 
Martin, the great tragedienne became, with Frederick 
liCmaitre, the highest incarnation of romantic 
drama, and was successively Marguerite de Bour- 
gogne in la Tour de Nesle (March 29, 1832), 
Lucrece Borgia (February 12, 1833), Marie Tudor 
(November 17, 1833), and the Marquise de Brin- 
villiers. In the Appendix will be read some beau- 
tiful pages by Victor Hugo dedicated to her. 

1 June 14, 1822. 

2 November 9, 1822, Mile. George played in le Comte Julien 
of Guiraud, and de Liaidi^re's Jane Shore, Api*il 2, 1824. 

3 Cleopdtre, July 2, 1824; Jeanne d'Arc, May 14, 1825. 
* October 13, 1829. 

•'• Une Fete sous Neron, October 29, 1829; Christine, by A. 
Dumas, March 30, 1829. 

^ The first performance of la Marechale d'Ancre took place 
on June 25, 1830. On June 21 the piece had to be interrupted 
after the second act because of the indisposition of Mile. George. 
The real premiere took place on June 25. The drama was 
coldly received. 

'■ Jeanne la Folle, August 28, 1829. 



24 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

In spite of this incomparable repertoire, little by 
little the public abandoned the Porte-Saint-Martin. 
The fusillades in the rue Transnonain and at 
Cloitre-Saint-Merry absorbed all their attention. 
Harel finally succumbed. The prohibition of 
Balzac's Vautrin, on the morning of the first per- 
formance, led to the closing of the theatre. 

After a great tour in Italy, Austria, and 
Russia, Mile. George gave at the Italiens some 
performances of Biitannicus and JLucrece Boi^gia 
(January 1843). They were a very great success. 

At the Odeon, under the Lireux management, 
George played Marie Tudor v^ith Mme. Marie 
Dorval, for whom she had a great friendship,^ then 
la Chambre Ai^dente at the Gaiety, and la Tour de 
Nesle with Frederick Lemaitre, at the Porte- Saint- 
Martin. ^ 

It is known that Frederick Lemaitre, perhaps 
the greatest comedian who ever existed, had a 
detestable character. He was fond of tippling, 
but played admirably even when he was drunk. 
He was quite unbearable under the influence of 
several bottles of champagne or Burgundy. One 
evening he had to play with George ; he declared 
that he would not appear on the stage unless 
a certain sum due on his salary was paid to 
him. All the protestations of the manager and 
George's tears were useless. The hour for begin- 
ning the performance arrived. In those days there 
was never much money in a manager's chest. So 

1 January 1844. ^ December 1844. 



INTRODUCTION 25 

as not to lose the performance Marguerite de 
Bourgogne sacrificed herself. She sent her jewel- 
lery to the pawn-shop, and gave Frederick the sum 
lent. Never was Buridan more magnificent, he 
surpassed himself; but it is probable that George 
never managed to redeem her diamonds so 
generously pledged. 

The moment was approaching when Mile. George 
would be forced to retire. A stoutness which she had 
never been able to check rendered her walk painful 
and heavy. She had become enormous. Her 
voice, which had formerly been so touching, was 
cracked. Her gestures had little by little lost their 
majesty. After a short appearance in historical 
repertoire, and several unfortunate attempts in the 
provinces, George was obliged to renounce the 
theatre. 

It was on May 27, 1849, that she gave her fare- 
well performance. Mile. Rachel had consented to 
appear with George. It was a memorable evening, 
which provided the presence of Clytemnestra and 
the creator of Lucrece Borgia, and Mile. Rachel, 
who had immediately won since her initial appear- 
ance the first place in the Theatre-Fran9ais. 

Rachel, whom we saw in China and in the first 
performance of Diane, has left us such great re- 
collections ; she had been so admirably trained by 
Eugene Delacroix, one of our dear and favourite 
masters ; Rachel, in short, seemed to us such a 
luminous and sculptural figure, that it is hard for us 
to admit the malicious tales to which this meeting 



26 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

of the two tragedy actresses gave rise. Up till now 
we have practically followed Mirecourt's brochure. 
We Avill now borrow from him with due reserve 
the actual text of this famous battle. 

" The battle," he said, " took place at the Italiens. 
Rachel played the part of Eriphyle, in Iphi- 
genia in Aulis^ and George filled the part of 
Clytemnestra. Mile. Felix was literally squashed. 
Pale and trembling she followed, in the wings, 
book in hand, the tirades of Clytemnestra, and 
tore her hair in despair, exclaiming, ' Heavens ! 
I shall never reach that ; what vigour ! ' 

" At the moment when Mile. George appeared, 
a furious hissing arose from a certain part of the 
orchestra where young Felix was sitting. ' That 
is not meant for me, surely ? ' said Clytemnestra 
to the house majestically. 

" All the spectators arose with a leap of angry 
protestation. Two hundred bouquets fell at the 
feet of the famous tragedienne, and for five 
minutes the cheers hindered the continuance of her 
part. When Rachel appeared after this ovation, 
which had been provoked by the imprudence of 
her partisans, her eye was burning with anger. 
She ventured to say to some one behind the 
scenes, letting escape a gesture of disdain, ' Remove 
those flowers, one can't walk for them.' 

" A burst of hissing, better supported than the 
first, greeted this insolent whim. Nobody pro- 
tested. 

" ' The case is judged,' said Victor Hugo. ' We 



INTRODUCTION 27 

have come to see the statuette alongside the statue. 
What a reduction ! ' " 

Mile. Felix, in virtue of promises on the bills, 
ought to have played le Moinemi de Lesbie at the 
end of the evening. Furious at the humiliation 
which she had had to endure, she went up to her 
dressing-room, resumed her ordinary costume, and 
disappeared. Instead of the piece announced, the 
public were begged to be kind enough to listen to 
a grand air by Mme. Viardot. 

" Certainly," was the cry from the house. 
" We accept the nightingale in place of the 
sparrow ! " 

We do not forget that, for reasons perhaps easy 
to guess, Mirecourt was an implacable enemy of 
Rachel. There was bound to be in his account 
not a little phantasy and exaggeration. Theophile 
Gautier, in his pamphlet, relates none of the inci- 
dents of which Mirecourt speaks. However, in an 
article in Profils et Grimaces, which we reprint in 
the Appendix, Auguste Vacquerie, who did not 
love Rachel, is just as affirmative as the pam- 
phleteer. In fact, a letter which will be found 
further on in George's correspondence mentions 
the refusal of Rachel to play le Moineau de Lesbie, 
and an acrimonious dispute on the part of Her- 
mione with regard to her illustrious predecessor. 

After this performance Mile. George was ap- 
pointed an inspectress of the Conservatoire. 

On December 17, 1857, she had her real farewell 
performance at the Comedie-Fran9aise. 



28 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

She played Rodogune, and was still able to 
give an admirable rendering. A whole generation, 
which had never had the chance of applauding her, 
was profoundly moved by the nobility of her 
diction and gestures, " and the sculptural and still 
truly grandiose aspect of her person."^ 

" She has more than the beauty of old age," 
wrote M. Edouard Thierry, " she has the old age 
of beauty." 

After this performance, which had been a verit- 
able triumph for her, she was never again to 
appear before the public. Her last years were 
hard. Very generous to all those around her, she 
had kept nothing of her fortune of former times. 
I believe the Government of the Second Empire 
gave her a pension.^ 

She spoke of Napoleon with a respectful and 
catching emotion. " But," said M. Frederic 
Masson excellently, " it was not the lover she 
evoked, but the Emperor. And, cettejille (doesn't 
the word seem a little hard ?), not from the 
modesty of an old woman — for she spoke freely 

1 Jour7ial intime de la Comedie-Frangaise, 1852-1871, by 
George d'Heylli. 

" I have been told — but I am not able to affirm the fact — that 
for the Universal Exhibition of 1855 she obtained the conces- 
sion of the little chalets de necessite. A sad compensation for a 
queen of beauty and tragedy ! Alas^ poor Clytemnestra ! poor 
Marie Tudor I 

As is often the case with prodigals^ she had much material 
order, her account books are admirably kept. Nearly every day 
ten centimes figure for snuff, of which she consumed a great 
quantity^ like all the people of her time. 



INTRODUCTION 29 

and crudely of her other lovers — but from a sort 
of respectfid fear, seemed no longer to recall the 
fact that he had found her beautiful, and had told 
her so. She no longer saw the man he had been 
for her, but the man he had been for France, like 
those nymphs who, honoured for an instant by 
the caresses of a god, never regarded his visage, 
dazzled as they were by the blinding light of his 
glory." 

M. Ludovic Halevy tells us that one day, at the 
Tuileries, being at the ministry of the Imperial 
household, he received a visit from George, who 
came as a suppliant. 

It was the hour of mounting guard. The drums 
were beating. The Emperor Napoleon III ap- 
peared on the terrace of the Tuileries to receive 
the guard, which was about to go on duty. George 
placed herself at the window, attracted by the 
spectacle. She turned round quite moved, with 
tears in her eyes. " Ah ! " she exclaimed, " I have 
seen that very often — in former times— under the 
other'' 

" When I die," George had said, " I should like 
to be buried in Rodogune's cloak." 

She died at Passy, 3 rue de Ranelagh, on 
January 11, 1867. She was eighty years old. 

The Emperor took on himself the expenses of 
her burial, which took place in the cemetery of 
P^re-Lachaise. 

Let us now try to form an impartial judgment of 
her talent and character as woman and artiste. 



30 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

All her contemporaries are agreed in celebrating 
her marvellous beauty. Before her debuts, when 
she appeared on the balcony of the Comedie- 
Fran^aise, the public applauded her entry. She 
had to rise to thank the crowd of anonymous 
admirers. 

As the critic GeofFroy remarks, " One dreams 
involuntarily of the enthusiasm of the old men of 
Troy when Helen passed before them with the 
radiant prestige of her irresistible charm." 

In les Belles Femmes de Pa?is, Theophile Gautier 
has dedicated to George one of his most admir- 
able pages. He compares her to an Isis of the 
bas-reliefs of iEgina. He speaks of her superbly 
disdainful mouth like that of an avenging Nemesis, 
waiting for the hour to unmuzzle her lion with 
brazen claws. After having said that one of her 
bracelets would make a girdle for a woman of less 
stature, he adds that her arms were very white and 
clear, terminated by wrists of an infantile delicacy 
and by sweet little hands broken by dimples, 
regular little royal hands, made to carry the sceptre 
and gi'asp the sword-hilt of iEschylus and Euripides. 

This marvellous portrait describes her better, per- 
haps, than even the painters themselves inspired by 
the tragedienne. 

The portrait by Lagrenee, the date of which 
we cannot fix with precision, shows us a Clytem- 
nestra or an Emilia already very robust and very 
imposing. The painter has not forgotten the lines 
of the arms and the delicacy of the hands. It is 



INTRODUCTION 31 

understood that the feet are not to be mentioned, 
so as not to vex Napoleon. 

In the portrait which he made of her,^ Gerard 
has concealed the embonpoint of his model ; he 
has reduced and refined her a little. The por- 
trait is only a bust, but the head has the radiance, 
the sweet majesty, and the smile of an ancient 
goddess. 

In his memoirs, Alexandre Dumas, who was for 
a little George's lover, tells us that she did not 
disdain to show herself without covering in taking 
her bath, proud of offering to the glances of her 
admirers the pure forms of her marble-like nudity. 

Everything passes, alas ! and inflexible time 
has no respect for masterpieces either of art or of 
human beauty. A deplorable obesity invaded this 
woman's body, which the perfection of its lines 
should have protected. In the last years of her 
life, the goddess seemed like a sort of mastodon. 
Her face alone preserved some traces of majesty. 

Now what was the artiste's talent ? Unfortun- 
ately nothing remains of actor or actress. Some 
recollections of contemporaries and nothing more. 
Was George, as MM. de Manne and Menetrier say, 
a mediocre artiste without great originality, more 
adapted to play drama than tragedy ? Was she on 

^ Gerard's portrait belonged to Vivant-Denon, the witty 
superintendent of museums of the First Empire^ and the author 
of the adorable tale, Pas de lendema'm. At the sale which took 
place after the decease of Denon, in 1826, the portrait of George 
was purchased for a ridiculous price (2010 francs) by the painter 
Perignon. It belongs now to the Countess de Pourtales. 



32 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

the contrary the inspired artiste, touching and sub- 
lime, whom Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas 
have celebrated ? She interpreted their works ; 
unconsciously they may have slightly forced the 
note of admiration. 

I estimate that the truth can be found between 
these two appreciations. 

At sixteen George made the old Dumesnil weep, 
in reciting the tirades of Clytemnestra. Her pro- 
fessor, Mile. Raucourt, who was herself a great trage- 
dienne and woman of ability, judged that her pupil's 
talent called her to play the great maternal roles of 
tragedy. Family affection was much stronger in 
George than the sense of love. She was bound to 
be a Clytemnestra, a Merope, a magnificent Idame, 
if to her talent one adds the beauty of her 
person, the vigour and power of her gestures and 
her voice. When she approached the Romantic 
drama, to which she had brought that firmness of 
diction which the study of tragedy alone gives, she 
must have been truly splendid in Marguerite de 
Bourgogne, in Lucrece Borgia, in Marie Tudor. 
But she could never have had the tragic acuteness, 
nor that which I should call the ancient distinction, 
the plastic sculptural lines of Rachel, nor the 
unrivalled sovereign grace and artistic intelligence 
of Sarah Bernhardt. 

To define George's talent is to speak at the same 
time of her character. She had never had a 
child of her own, but maternity was her vocation. 
She was thoroughly good and generous, incapable 



INTRODUCTION 33 

of malice or rancour. There is not a bitter line or 
cruel word in her Memoirs. I seem to see them 
issuing from her with an amiable and sweet smile. 
Victor Hugo said, in speaking of Queen Anne, 
'' She was proud of being fat" ^ I believe that the 
saying could be applied to George. Sardou's letter, 
which will be found further on, states that in her 
last years on the stage she preserved a great air and 
great dignity. Once retired from the stage she 
became negligent and more and more heavy. She 
became the " fat mamma " of whom Sardou speaks 
at the end of his letter. 

In spite of the tales, perhaps a little embellished, 
of her relations with Bonaparte, and in spite of her 
long liaison with Harel, her lover and manager, I 
do not believe that George was very amorous 
and sensual. Among her admirers are mentioned 
Talleyrand, Murat, the Prince of Wurtemberg, 
Lucien Bonaparte, King Jerome, the Emperor 
Alexander I, Coster de Saint- Victor, Count Beck- 
endorf, Jules Janin, Alexandre Dumas, and others 
besides. But these were only passing whims. 
The liaison with Harel was lasting, perhaps, because 
there was no promise on either side of absolute 
fidelity. Whatever may be the reason of it, I 
should be disposed to think that on account of 
her buxom figure and lazy nature love was a 
considerable fatigue to her. George must have 
preferred to show herself off, to cause her charms 

1 Victor Hugo, Vhomme qui rit. Paris, libraire Lacroix, 
Verboeckhoren et Cie, 1869j vol. ii, p. 86. 



34 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

to be admired, to be complaisant in agreeable pre- 
ludes rather than to give herself in fiery and passion- 
ate transports. She had none of the temperament 
of her friend Marie Dorval, the frenzied lover, 
whose correspondence I shall one day publish. She 
indeed was — 

Venus tout entiere a sa proie attachee ! 

and the amoureuse par excellence, and the Phedre 
of the nineteenth century. 

Quite otherwise was the calm, serene and abun- 
dant Marie Tudor. With a rather mediocre intelli- 
gence, good even to blindness, generous, scattering 
around her all she had gained, enduring poverty 
with gaiety, it was, I imagine, from her easy- 
going nature, her sweetness of soul, her curiosity, 
more than from passion, that she must have 
abandoned herself to the caresses of a lover. 

Her Memoirs, full of filial tenderness, of gratitude 
to the Emperor and the Bonapartes, of mdulgence 
for all, make us love her. This woman, whom 
sovereign beauty and imperial conquests might have 
made vain and haughty — never knew how to hate 
nor hurt any one at all. This is an eulogy 
which not all great artistes have known how to 
deserve. There is very often a little ferocity among 
gods, and above all in the souls of goddesses. 

And now let us allow Mile. George to talk. 



FIRST PART 

THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT 



Her Birth and Family 

The Journal de Bayeuoo suggests and gives details 
about my somewhat original birth. Leaving 
Bayeux at the age of ten months in the company of 
a beautiful fresh Norman nurse called Marianne, 
my father and mother came to Amiens — my father 
as chef d'orchestre, my mother to play the part of 
soubrette,^ and my brother Charles, who already 
at five years old scraped the violin. 

As quite a little one I was said to be very pretty. 
My nurse, proud of her nursling, yielded easily to 
tlje requests of the chief ladies of the town, who 
wanted to have the little Mimi every day, and 

1 George (Marguerite -Josephine Weimar^ called Mile.), born 
at Bayeux, February 23, 1787 ; appeared on 8 Frimaire in the year 
xi (November 28, 1802); Societaire, March 17, 1804; left, May 
11, 1808 ; Russia, 1811 ; returned, September 29, 1813 ; retired. 
May 8, 1817; Odeon, 1822; Porte-Saint-Marlin, 1831; dies at 
Passy, 3 rue du Ranelagh, January 11, 1866; buried at the 
cemetery of Pere-Lachaise (Georges Monval, Alphabetic List of 
Members of the Comedie-Frangaise,from Moliere to the Present Day, 
one vol. in 8vo, Chararay, 1900). 

35 



36 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

loaded her with Httle bonnets, etc. The nurse was 
not forgotten, which kept her very docile, so she 
was never fatigued with having her big baby all day 
in her arms ! On reaching the age of five, several 
abilities were discovered in me : I had even 
then a pretty voice, and I was a musician by 
instinct. How could I have helped being one ? 
My father was a German and a great musician, my 
brother occupied himself only with his violin ; I 
was always singing and strumming on a wretched 
spinnet, which prepared me for the piano. 

Little money was being made at the theatre, and 
my father was in despair. The idea came to him 
of teaching me to sing the part of Perrette in la 
Petite Victoire, an opera in one act. He was happy 
to see his Mimi would acquit herself well, and 
set about preparing this opera ; rehearsals proved 
that I should hold my own, and so there I was 
set out and launched on the stage ! 

A fortunate debut, which poured an ample 
harvest into the coffer, restored courage to the 
poor actors, because my quite infantile appearance 
produced such a marvellous effect that forty con- 
secutive performances were given to full houses. 

Really I was a great personage ; in fact, it was 
very curious to see the little five-year-old dairy- 
maid, so small that, for the milk-can which I had 
to carry on my head my mother was obliged to 
give me a cup, and I had, which made the thing 
completely farcical, a Guillot and a Colas as big as 
Don Quixote. I have always kept my costume, 



MEMOIRS 37 

so dear are all the recollections of my childhood to 
me. Alas ! why are they so sweet and so sad at 
the same time? 

My brother, at the age of ten, took his place in 
the orchestra as second fiddle. Ah, we were all at 
work ! My father did not at all neglect our educa- 
tion ; for me there was a music master, for my 
brother and me language, drawing, history, and 
even dancing masters. Nothing was spared to meet 
all the expenses. My father dabbled a little in 
business ; he was loved and esteemed, and he was 
helped by every means to bring up his little family. 
Poor father, how often he passed his nights in 
copying music ! He was thus able to bring a 
little comfort into the house ; and my dear little 
mother, who was so proud of her children, kept us 
with an exemplary care and cleanliness. 

I was very accurate at my lessons. As managers 
we had our own apartments, I mean to say rooms, 
at the theatre, and all the time I was having my 
lessons I heard the orchestra, and in spite of the 
reprimands of my master I would run and stretch 
myself in a box. My nurse, Marianne, came in a 
fury to destroy my happiness, threatening to tell 
my mother, of whom I was more afraid than my 
father. It was all in vain for them to say that 
they did not wish to place me on the stage, that it 
was an atrocious livelihood, that they had only let 
me play to amuse myself, and that I must not 
dream of it : it was quite useless. I adored the 
theatre — so there ! They saw very well that it 



38 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

was my vocation, and yielded. Then I was made 
to play in opera, comedy and vaudeville. Often 
stock companies came to Amiens. Mme. Dugazon, 
of the Opera-Comique (then Feydeau), played Nina 
ou la FoUe par amour, the part which brought her 
such a great and well-deserved reputation ; it was 
the most touching thing in the world. She had to 
fight against her physique, because of embonpoint ; 
her face was charming and full of expression, 
while her eyes were ravishing. She was the sister 
of our Dugazon ^ of the Theatre-Fran^ais. 

She played Camille ou le Souterrain, while I took 
the part of her son Adolph, dressed in a little coat 
of white grogram and a pink sash, with my long 
hair falling in corkscrews on my shoulders. I 
looked very pretty and charmed Mme. Dugazon, 
who was the most excellent and clever woman one 
could wish to see — kind and simple, never speak- 
ing of her immense talent. Great and true artistes 
are really always modest, and you will remark that 
they never talk of their successes. 

Once my father said to me — I may have been ten 
years old at the time — " My dear daughter Mimi " 
(my poor dear German father ! Ah, we had the 
misfortune to have a pure German father ! — other- 

1 Dugazon (J. B. Henri-Gourgoud), born at Marseilles, Novem- 
ber 15, 1746; made her debut, April 29, 1771; Societaire, 
April 10, 1772; passed to the Theatre de la rue Richeleu in 
April 1791 ; general reunion, 1709; died, still on the stage, at 
Sandillon (Loiret), October 10, 1809 (Georges Monval, Liste 
alphabetique des Societaires, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 39 

wise, who knows ? we might have been hotel 
proprietors), "just stay by the cash-box for an hour; 
your mother is playing in the first piece. Take 
your mother's muff, you might be cold. Notice 
everything that goes on." 

" Yes, papa ! " 

So I am installed at the pay-box. Why ? — not 
to receive money ! The weather was fearful before 
the performance ; it was snowing horribly, and in 
the country, where private carriages are very rare, 
people go very seldom to the theatre. However, 
some people arrive, and two or three miserable 
supplements. I was bored and hungry. I placed 
the fifteen pennies of supplement money in my 
muff, and sent a certain Fanchonnette, who was 
sitting beside me, to fetch six puffs, all warm, and I 
regaled everybody. But as the public was absent, 
my father arrived just as the puffs had been 
devoured. And (oh dear !) he said to me, *' my 
good Mimi, we shall not play ; the money must 
be returned ! " 

Return the money ! it would be easier to return 
the puffs which we have just eaten ! " Ah, mon 
Dieu ! that would be a very bad plan — you 
would wrong yourself Don't do that, believe 
your Mimi." 

During this little dialogue, while I trembled 
in all my limbs, fortunately the weather grew 
calmer, and people began to arrive. There was a 
performance. See how innocence was protected ! 
The lesson was a good one ; however, I confessed 



40 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

my fault to my father, saying to him, " But I 
had my httle purse, papa, and I would have 
paid you back. It was very naughty and gi-eedy 
of me." 

I was very jealous for my little mother. I liked 
to see her well turned out. But I scarcely ever 
had to wish on that score ; she was very careful, 
very tasteful, and even a little bit of a flirt, 
was my little mother ! For the rest, she was 
very nice-looking, though not actually pretty ; but 
she had hair which nearly touched the ground, 
and charming hands and arms, and a bosom and 
shoulders of dazzling whiteness. One could say 
of her, " That is a charming little woman." She 
was also a proud little woman ; one could see 
she had been born for a more brilliant lot, poor 
little mother ! She had fallen to an excellent man, 
who often laughed at her grand airs. "Will 
madame la comtesse permit a plebeian to offer her a 
simple bouquet of roses ? " Then to see my mother 
very well turned out in a part (I no longer recall 
which) where flowers and ribbons were necessary, 
I purchased them. " I wiU pay you for them out 
of my little economies. Say nothing to mamma ; 
I am going to give her a surprise." 

" Mamma, see, isn't that pretty ? I am going to 
make you a present out of my savings." 

Mamma appeared to believe me, saying to her- 
self, " I will pay from my daughter's savings." 

The piece once over, I said, " Bah ! let them 
wait ; " and gradually I depleted my little purse 



MEMOIRS 41 

to pay for puffs and macaroons. When I passed 
the shopkeepers, they said : 

" Well, Mimi, when are you coming ? " 

" To-morrow, madame." 

But to-morroAV never arrived. I no longer dared 
go out. One day my father said to me, " Have 
you had your lessons ? " 

*'Yes, papa." 

" Well, my daughter, take this letter quickly to 
the post." 

I had to pass those shopkeepers, and made un- 
believable detours. I ended by confessing every- 
thing to my father, saying, " Don't tell mamma 
about it. Here is my beautiful copper chain ; sell 
it and pay for me. I did it from pride in your 
wife ; you will pardon me." My good father, was 
I not his idol ? Besides, I made him as happy as 
possible. " Did I not, dear papa ? You are up 
above ; tell me that you never had to reproach 
your Mimi." 

This is by no means childish nonsense. I have 
already told you that my father gave us all the 
masters possible ; it was our fault, then, if we did 
not profit by them. I was very good at the 
piano, but I was so timid that when my father said 
to me, " Sit down and play us something," I cut 
the tips of my fingers to make them bleed. It 
was not naughtiness, it was really fear, which was 
stronger than I ; still it often happened that between 
the acts my father made me execute sonatas, and 
my brother accompanied me on his violin. I was 



42 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

surrounded and embraced. " You have been very 
nice, Mimi." My mother, who was playing in 
Paul et Virginie, said, " She is better in great 
actions. She makes me weep on the stage ; in gay 
things she is sad and boring." Away with the 
pathetic, since in those days everything was sweet ! 
Ah, how amusing all these details were ! What 
happy times ! Charming joy of childhood, how 
much I have regretted you ! We were not rich, 
but we were so happy. All the family was busy — 
how could we ever be bored ? My father and 
mother had everybody's esteem, and we were ad- 
mitted into the best society. There was not a ball 
or a festival without Mme. George's children. It 
was so jolly ; to dream of another existence would 
have saddened our hearts. But I cry, " Alas — 
yes, alas. Mile. Raucourt ! " My life of childhood, 
which I believed eternal, is going to end ; now a 
brilliant, ambitious, tormenting existence is about 
to begin ! A Parisian actress in the first theatre in 
the world ! That is grand, but often sad. Farewell, 
my Amiens ; farewell, my little sails on the water, 
my joyous dances with my madcap little com- 
panions ! I shall return. You will see me again, 
certainly, in my elegance. 1 shall arrive at the 
theatre in a carriage ; you will, all of you, 
crowd round to see your little Mimi. W^ell, be- 
lieve me, my dear friends, your little Mimi will 
never forget you, and will always love her cotton 
dress and her beautiful blue stockings with orange 
embroidery. 



MEMOIRS 43 

Mile. Raucourt^ was beautiful, but very imposing; 
she caused me dreadful fear. I fled whenever I saw 
her. She certainly noticed me, for she said to 
my father, " Tell your beautiful little savage to 
come here." Then I could not avoid her, and I 
was face to face. 

Mile. Raucourt was very gracious when she 
wanted to be so. So she assumed an amiable 
manner, and asked me if I liked tragedy. 

" I, madame ? No, I detest it." 

" Ah, my dear, that is very little encouragement 
for what I have to ask you." 

" What, madame ? " 

" You must play Aricie for me, my child, in 
Phedre.'' 

" 1 should like to, madame, if mamma allows 
me. 

Aricie, the little sailor, or Blaise and Babet, as 
far as I was concerned I saw no great difference. 
So I played Aricie ; the Greek costume suited 
my face and figure very well. Mile. Raucourt 
actually fouild some tragic ability in me. How 
did I come by it ? I have no idea. 

1 Raucourt (Fran9oise-Marie-Antoinette-Jos^phe Sancerotte), 
bom at Paris^ rue de la Vielle-Boucherie^ Mai-ch S, 1756 ; pupil 
of Brizard and Mile. Clairon ; made her debut, December 23, 
1772; left, May 28, 1776 (for Russia); returned August 28, 
1779; received, September 11 following; reunion generale. May 
30, 1799 ; manager of a French troupe in Italy; died at Paris, 
rue du Helder, January 15, 1815 ; her obsequies were a disgrace 
to Saint-Roch ; interred in the cemetery of P^re-Lachaise 
(Georges Monval, etc.). 



44 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

This first attempt was too much for my repose, 
for she made me play again — EHse in JDidon. 
My physique seemed sufficiently tragic to her to 
wear the crown, perhaps, one day. In fact, Mile. 
Raucourt was charged by the minister to find a 
young girl whom she could bring up as pupil to 
replace her, if possible. The minister offered a 
pension of twelve hundred francs till the day of 
her debut. 

Thinking she had found in me this pupil, she 
begged my father to go and see her, and told him 
her projects concerning me. Everything was 
arranged. My mother, as was right, would 
accompany me, as well as my good nurse and 
little sister. I was enrolled. What good-byes to 
my good Amienois, and what tears ! AVhat a 
personage I was ! I made my adieux by a special 
performance : A dele ou la Chaumiere. There was 
a great crowd at the theatre, and I ask you if the 
little Mimi was feted ? At this period it was 
scarcely the custom to encore or to throw bouquets 
— I had all the honours ; flowers, encores, and 
heaps of boxes of bonbons. What touched me 
infinitely was that the ladies sent me very nice 
little trinkets. After everything was over, we 
were occupied with preparations for departure. 
For the sake of her daughter's future happiness, 
my little mother was giving up her profession ; 
my father was separating from us for the first time 
— a decision which caused him great pain. 

Well, three days later, behold us starting for 



MEMOIRS 45 

Paris in a large vehicle, which vanity tempts us 
to style a coach. 

Here we are — father, mother, nurse, and sister. 
Two whole days to cover thirty leagues. We 
stayed at a very modest little hotel, as you can well 
imagine, Hotel Thionville, in the rue de Thionville, 
now-a-days rue Dauphine. 



II 

Arrival at Paris — The Thedtre-Franqais under the Consulate — Studies 
with Mile. Raucourt, Mile. Duchesnois, Mile. Clairon, Mile. 
Dumesnil — Her debuts. 

Next day, our first care was to call on Mile. 
Raucourt, who then lived in the Champs-Elysees, at 
the end of the allee des Veuves, at la Chaumiere, 
which formerly had belonged to the celebrated and 
beautiful Mme. Tallien. It was a house covered 
with thatch, but delightfully attractive, with a very 
tasteful elegance within. Mile. Raucourt gave us a 
most maternal reception : there was a certain Mme. 
de Ponty with her who never left her, a charming 
little woman, whose mother, we learned afterwards, 
had been a maid-of-honour to Marie Antoinette. 
During the Revolution, JVIme. de Ponty was im- 
prisoned at the same time as Mmes. Raucourt, 
Contat, etc.^ It was in this sad abode that a 

^ Contat ainee (Louise-Fran9oise, wife of the Marquis de 
Parny-Deforges), born at Paris^ June l6, 1760; made her debut. 



46 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

friendship was established between Mmes. de Ponty 
and Raucourt, which only ended with the death of 
Mile. Raucourt. 

I was given the part of Emilie from China to 
learn. Then the three of us came back (on foot, of 
course), all very delighted, especially my parents. 

As for me, I was not so full of wonder as all that. 
I was always dreaming of Amiens and my operas. 
And here I was to study that great figure Emilie. 

Oh dear ! Mamma, whatever do all these long 
speeches mean ? I don't understand a word. I 
shall never be able to say my part. 

Not being able to remain at the hotel, modest 
as it was, we searched for apartments— pardon, I 
should say a room. We found one. Hotel du 
Perou (the title was attractive), in the rue Croix- 
des-Petits- Champs. A large room, on my word, 
looking out on to some fine gutters, with a small 
chamber for my nurse and little sister. But my 
good father was obliged to leave us, and then I 
cursed my unhappy fate ! With my father far 
from us, it seemed as if we were abandoned and 
alone in the midst of an unknown and doubtless 
indifferent world. 

Good-bye, dear papa ! Do not leave us too long 
without you ; you know that cannot be. Oh, the 
family ! How can one form any other wish than 

February 3, 1776 ; accepted on trials March 2Q, 1777 ; Societaire, 
April 3, 1777 ; retired, March 6, 1809 ; died at Paris, 5Q rue de 
Provence, March Q, 1813; interred at Pere-Lachaise (Georges 
Monval, Lisle alpkabetique des Societaires, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 47 

that of being always united. As for me, the family 
sentiment has always prevailed. There have been 
caprices and passions, if you like. When we are 
carried away by passion we say, " Yes ; I will 
sacrifice everything, I will leave everything." Lies ! 
One leaves everything, one forgets everything, but 
never one's family. 

The day after this sad departure, my mother and 
I took the road to la Chaumiere. A very long 
way for her, who was as small as our charming 
Anais. I was going to take my first lesson. The 
way was along the rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs to 
the allee des Veuves. It seemed very short to me, 
so great was my fear. Mile. Raucourt made me 
read Emilie, and afterwards she read it to me. She 
was certainly a very clever artiste, but to me, a 
young girl, her slightly rough and very unmusical 
voice was not all attractive. I believed it was 
necessary, if I wished to succeed, to assume that 
voice, and I found it an impossibility which made 
me despair. " Let us wait," I said to my mother, 
" I shall improve, perhaps." 

We were given our entree to the Comedie- 
Fran9aise. Ah, how happy I was ! I was going 
to see what voices the others had. There we were 
both in the balcony. Andromaque was being 
played— Larrive,! Saint Fal,^ Mile. Fleury,^ Mile. 

1 La Rive (Jean Maudit), born at La Rochelle, August 6, 1747 ; 
with the Montausier Company at Tours, Lyons ; made his debut, 
December 3, 1770; received on trial, January 1, 1771; left 
in October 1771; in provinces; re-entered, April 29, 1775; 



48 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Vanhove,* since Mme. Talma. Overcome and 
ignorant as I was, I dare say that I was very little 
struck with Larrive in the beautiful part of Orestes. 
The public, always forgetful and ungrateful, treated 
unkindly a talent which but recently was surrounded 
with homage. Larrive, the pupil of the famous 
Clairon,^ ended badly a career which had been 
attended with such brilliant success. He had not 
the sense to retire in time. Larrive, hissed without 



Societaire, May 18 following; pensioned, June 13, 1788; re- 
entered as a free actor in 1 790 ; died at Montilignon, near 
Montmorency, April 30, 1827. 

2 Saint-Fal (Etienne Meynier), born at Paris, rue Saint- 
Severin, June 10, 1752; middle-class comedy, Montausier's 
Company, Holland, Lyons, Brussels ; made his debut, July 8, 
1782; Societaire, March 25, 1784; reunion generale. May 30, 
1799; retired, April 1, 1824; died at Paris, November 22, 1835. 

3 Fleury (Marie - Anne - Florence - Bernade - Nones, wife of 
Dr. Chevetal), born at Antwerp, December 20, 1 766 ; debut, 
March 23, 1784; fresh debut, October 23, 1786; Societaire, 
April 5, 1791; reunion generale of 1799; retired, April 1, 
1807; died at Orly, near Choisy-le-Roi, February 23, 1818. 

* Talma (Charlotte, called Caroline Vanhove, femme Petit, 
then wife of Talma (1802), and of Count de Chalot (1828)), 
born at the Hague (Holland), September 10, 1771 ; children's 
parts, 1777 ; general reunion, May 30, 1799 ; pensioned, April 1, 
1811 ; died at Paris, April 11, I860; interred at the cemetery of 
Monte Parnasess (Georges Monval, etc.). 

^ Clarion (Claire-Josephe-Hippolyte Leris de la Tude), born 
at Cond^ sur Escaut, January 25, 1723 ; debut at the Theatre 
Italien, January 8, 1736 ; Opera (March 1743) ; admitted^ 
October 22, 1743; Societaire, November 29, 1743; retired, 
March 31, 1766; died at Paris, rue de Lille, the 9 Pluvoise, 
year ix (January 29, 1803); transferred from the cemetery of 
Vaugirard to Pere-Lachaise in 1838 (Georges Monval, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 49 

mercy, was a sad sight to see, it was useless to 
recall his past triumphs. " The public wants no 
more of you, be off with you, you, who have pro- 
vided me with many happy evenings. I no longer 
care to hear you, I remember you no more. Be 
off with you, with your broken heart and humbled 
pride. That no longer concerns us. Be off with 
you." Ah, the hateful profession ! 

There was Mile. Fleury as Hermione. She had 
a poor physique, no abihty, carried herself badly, 
and there was something poor in all her person, but 
she had an agreeable voice, much heart and warmth, 
and spoke admirably. With all these qualities she 
had to struggle more than any one else : her first 
appearance was unfavourable ; but owing to the 
way she spoke one could not remain cold. She 
carried one away. She did not merely pretend to 
weep, for her tears were real. Hermione did not 
harmonise with these qualities, there were too many 
daring effects in that part for a talent more suave 
than impetuous. She could be the victim, but she 
could not make one. 

I saw Mile. Vanhove in Andromaque. She had 
a distinguished sentimental physique and a very 
touching voice, though perhaps a little monotonous. 
She certainly had talent and charm, but there were 
never any great effects, especially in tragedy ; the 
drama suited her melancholy talent better. 

Saint-Phal, impassioned — very — perhaps too much 
so, with a jerky diction which, young as 1 was, 
seemed to me, forgive the word, a little rococo. 



50 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

So much for tragedy, which I saw for the first 
time ; a new experience was to follow. Ah ! 
Mademoiselle Mars, how I recognised you at once ! 
What ingenuity ! How I was moved ! How 
ravishing she seemed to me ! Her eyes were so 
expressive and soft, her smiles so captivating. Hers 
was the true ingenuousness which does not lower 
the eyes nor assume modesty. She simply did 
not understand ! She riveted the attention of the 
whole house, and aroused universal laughter by her 
honest and charming naivete. Ah ! my dear Mars, 
Ave shall never hear that perfection again ; you 
have carried the secret of it to the tomb, where 
it Avill remain well sealed. You have had your 
detractors, admirable actress, but on leaving this 
earth you must have said, " Seek, and you will 
not find." 

I am wandering among my recollections : let us 
return to my ignorance. 

There was Michot as the peasant in L'Epreuve : 
how natural he was ! He was a most remarkable 
actor — nature taken in the act, such easy humour, 
such animation ! Oh, adorable talent. How he 
used to play Onus in les Deux freres, Koepp in 
la Jeunesse d' Henri V, and the old servant in le 
Philosophe sans le savoi?', a part which seems a 
trifle, yet with him it became important ! Besides, 
the man could make one laugh and cry at the same 
time. Still, he has scarcely left a memory behind 
him. What a strange profession it is ! 

Dugazon in comedy. Ah ! he was a real 



MEMOIRS 51 

comedian. It was impossible not to laugh frankly : 
he was so amusing. Fleury^ played Lucidor, a 
part which seemed a mere set-ofF to the other roles, 
but with him it became quite important. This 
piece was very well mounted, I thought. And 
what a success the short act had ! It was a running 
fire of applause. On leaving that evening I was 
mad about comedy. Tragedy ! Bah ! I wanted 
very little of it, I protest ! 

The second time I saw VOrphelin de la Chine. 
It was Larrive's last performance, for this time 
he was frightfully treated, and even ridiculed. 
He lost his memory, poor fellow ; he did not 
know what he was doing. The spectacle made 
one feel ill. 

Mile. Raucourt took the part of Idame : that 
is maternity at its height. But Mile. Raucourt 
was more herself in intellectual parts : she had the 
exact style. She acted well, but resembled Jasneti 
too much ; one really did not distinguish the sex. 

Finally, I saw the handsome Lafont, an actor 
with a great vogue, whose debuts had been so 
brilliant that even Talma ^ became uneasy. As 

^ Fleury (Abraham-Joseph Benard), born at Chartres, 
October 27, 1750; Lyons Theatre (1765); made his debut, 
March 7, 1774; returned to the Provinces; fresh debut, Mai-ch 
20, 1778 ; Societaire, May 12 following ; reunion generale, 1799 ; 
retired, April 1, 1818; died at Valen9ay (Loiret), March 3, 
1822; interred in the cemetery of Orleans (Georges Monval, 
Liste alphabetique des Societaires, etc.). 

2 Talma (Fran9ois Joseph), husband of Julie Carreau (1790) 
and of Caroline Vanhove (1802), born at Paris, rue des M^nes- 



52 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Orosmane he was much more the handsome man ; 
his features were very dehcate, his nose somewhat 
tilted, his eyes small and black, but bright and 
piercing; in fact his whole person was elegant, 
and his voice melodious and well-suited to love- 
making. INIoreover, he gave us tears, enthusiasm, 
fervours which carried us away — very brilliant act- 
ing, but without depth and lacking in construction. 
It was, as it were, a display of fireworks which 
dazzled the eyes of the spectators, and called for 
enthusiastic applause. 

Lafont was very much liked by women, his style 
of talent charmed them and with reason. He was 
really ravishing in Tancred, The Cid, and Orosmane. 
He was best in love scenes ; he had all the qualities, 
and his success in chivalrous genre was just and 
deserved. The emotional Mile. Volnais^ had 
just ended her debuts, having had something of 
a run as Palmira and Zaire. She was a pretty 

trieres (parish of Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs), January 15, 176'3; 
a pupil at the School of Declamation (1786); made his d(ibut, 
November 24, 1787, as Seide in Mahomet; Societaire, April 1, 
1789; theatre in the rue de Richelieu (April 1791); reunion 
generale of May 30, 1 799 ; died at Paris, rue de la Tour-des- 
Dames, October 19, 1826; interred in the cemetery of P^re- 
Lachaise. 

1 Volnais (Claudine-Placide Croizet-Fen'eire) married Philip 
lloustan, of the Vaudeville (1822), born at Paris, rue Neuve- 
Saint-Eustache, May 4, 1786 ; made her debut at Versailles, May 
4, 1801; made her d^but at Paris, the seventh of the same month ; 
Societaire in 1802; retii-ed, April 1, 1822; died at her chateau 
of Ormes-le-Guignard, near Vendome, July l6, 1837 (Georges 
Monval, Liste alphahetique des Societaires, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 53 

person, with magnificent black eyes, a little short 
in stature, and her figure was a trifle fat, but her 
head was theatrical. Her voice was not the best 
thing about her, being toneless and hollow. She 
wept copiously. At that time all our leading 
ladies were far too emotional. It drove Talma 
to despair, and certainly he had right on his 
side. 

Finally we come to Talma. At that time he 
was somewhat in the shade ; the brilliant Lafont 
tormented him. The First Consul, who was very 
fond of Talma — he knew how to be fond — said to 
him : " I am not displeased, my dear fellow, about 
the little annoyances which the handsome Lafont 
causes you. It is a stimulus which you need. You 
were going to sleep, and he will wake you up." 
Talma himself told me this anecdote. 

Talma in Iphigenie en Tauride ! I do not know 
if he slept, but that day his awakening was terrible. 
It was tragedy at its best ! What emotions ! and 
Heavens, what an expression ! What a sense of 
fataUty rested on that brow ! What a talent was 
his, stirring one's emotions to the deepest depths ! 

What terrors ! What melancholy, heart-rending 
and genuine tears ! All his face is distorted, he 
trembles in every fibre. He grows pale, and it is a 
livid and sweating pallor. Where does he get his 
terrible effects ? It is genius and it is realism. 
To see Orestes is to identify oneself with him, to 
experience all he experiences. Ah I it isn't diction. 
Can passion have diction ? Can the hallucinations of 



54 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Orestes have diction ? No ; Talma is sublime. All 
the poetical and human passions are incarnated in 
this man. Ah, Talma, if you could leave your 
winding-sheet people would come from the four 
corners of the world to hear you, even from 
America, where they say tragedy is not loved. 
Poor tragedy, where art thou ? What has become 
of thee ? 

lie spoke tragedy : he did not talk it, which is 
different. It was not the tragedy of Marivaux : 
it was Corneille and Racine. 

I was ill on leaving after that memorable even- 
ing. Enthused and panting, I resumed my studies 
with ardour, all the time saying to myself, " It is 
impossible. How can one reach such heights ? Let 
us try, though without hope. Courage, poor little 
girl ; the whole family counts on you. If you 
succeed you will make them happy. Courage, 
then. Yes, I will be brave ; I will work." 

At last I saw IVllle. Contat, the great court lady, 
with her magnificent insolence, her grand manners, 
her domineering tone, her unstudied ease, her easy- 
going, unaffected ways, her sparkling comedy, the 
enchanting smile, the frank gaiety of the great 
world. Mile. Contat ! There are all my young 
first impressions ! Let me tell you them, dear 
actors, and do not suspect me : there is no preju- 
dice. They are just my impressions and sensa- 
tions, that is all ! Girl as I was, do not think 
that I found everything magnificent : but I am 
quite convinced that what was beautiful then 



MEMOIRS 55 

would be so to-day, even to the present public, 
and that what was bad then would be so now. 
Certainly some of the actors were very ridiculous. 
Mole 1 in le Vieux Celibataire, and IVIlle. Contat : it 
was marvellous. Fleury so witty and so well bred 
in his impertinences, his bantering ways and mock- 
ing laugh. Then Dugazon, Dazincourt,^ and Mile. 
Devienne,^ who was a soubrette to the life, the sly 
cat, so familiar with her mistress, but always per- 
fiimed and circumspect. The get-up for soubrettes 
was in those days charming, simple and coquettish. 
Always a pretty bonnet, sleeves to the elbow, 
the bosom covered with a lace handkerchief, which 
allowed everything to be guessed at but nothing 
to be seen, an arrangement which was not lacking 
in charm ; then there were embroidered aprons, and 

1 Mole (Francois-Rene), born at Paris, in the City, rue Saint- 
Louis, November 24, 1734; made his debut, October 7, 1754; 
Lyons, Toulouse, Marseilles ; fresh debut, January 28, 1 760 ; 
Societaire, March 30, I76l ; left, September 1, 1791 ; Member 
of the Institute, 1795; reunion generale of 1799; died at Paris, 
1 rue Corneille, the 20th Frimaire, year xi (December 11_, 1802); 
interred on his property at Antony (Seine). 

2 Dazincourt (Joseph-J.-B.-Albony), bom at Marseilles, 
December 11, 1747; at Brussels, 1772; made his debut, 
November 21, 1776; Societaire, March 23, 1778 ; died at Paris, 
24 rue de Richelieu, March 28, 1809 ; buried in the cemetery of 
Montmaitre. 

^ Devienne (Jeanne-Francoise-Sophie Therenin), wife of 
Gerandau (1809), born at Lyons, June 21, 1763 ; made her debut, 
April 7, 1785; received the 12th of November following; at 
the Montansier and Feydeau theatres ; reunion generale of 
1799; retired, April 1, 1813; died at FariS; November 20, 1841 
(Georges Monval, etc.) 



56 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

always gloves. The whole get-up was most elegant, 
I assure you. 



I pursued my studies with zeal ; people began to 
notice me. When I reached my modest place in 
the balcony there was a slight movement in the 
house which was quite disconcerting. "It is Mile. 
Raucourt's pupil ; she is giving her lessons to replace 
her." " Really she is very young." Then all glasses 
were directed on me. I was as red as a cherry, and I 
scarcely dared move. Later on they used to applaud 
me. When I took my place the whole audience 
stood up. At this period the theatre was much 
to the fore, and especially the Thea,tre-Fran(;;ais, 
which the Emperor liked so much, and visited so 
often. Consequently the debut of a pupil of Mile. 
Raucourt was an event. Hearing the applause I 
thought I was being laughed at. I w^as ashamed, 
and the tears stood in my eyes. " Mamma, is there 
anything ridiculous about me ? " " No, no ; just 
bow ! " Ah, really, I was on the rack. 

Naturally I had to be present at Mile. Raucourt's 
performances, and after the tragedy appear in her 
dressing-room ; that was the etiquette of the period. 
There was much respect and deference for great 
talent. But it was neither respect nor deference 
that guided me — it was more than that. Gratitude 
imposed a duty on me which I joyfully performed. 
There was always a good number in the dressing- 
room. I had to be presented to each person. I 



MEMOIRS 57 

was very timid. " Come, child, show yourself. 
Take off that stupid hat that you may be seen." 

Before my debuts I had had a severe illness, 
which had caused the loss of my hair ; so my head 
had to be shaved ! Mile. Raucourt conceived the 
frightful fancy of showing me in that condition ; 
she was amused at my shame, and thought short 
hair suited me ... I was a fright. Ah, how I 
cursed her admiration for my shaven pate ! 

Good Mile. Raucourt was too lazy for lessons, 
and later on I understood the reason. In Paris, it 
was a very difficult thing to dedicate to me a 
peacefril hour. Ten, twenty times interruptions 
came : Monseigneur Prince d'Henin, Mme. de 
Talleyrand, Mme. Talhen, and so on and so 
forth, without end. " Prince, you must listen to 
my pupil. My child, stand over there and recite 
nicely." The child was in a very bad temper, 
and trembled hke a leaf; but she had to 
obey. 

We were very, very poor. My father's affairs 
were progressing badly at Amiens. ]My brother had 
come to us in Paris to take lessons from Kreutzer. 
He got the children of the Dutch Ambassador as 
pupils. Poor brother, he gave us nearly all he 
gained. My father could hardly send us any 
money : he dispatched boxes of vegetables and 
clothes. My nurse went to wash our linen at the 
riverside. Ah, a charming yet cruel time ! My 
studies proceeded slowly. Mile. Raucourt, occu- 
pied with her theatre, her endless visits and other 



58 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

distractions, was little disposed to bore herself with 
her pupil. Within two hours of Orleans she had 
a charming abode, la Chapelle, which she had just 
acquired. She was mad about it, and repaired 
there too frequently for my studies. Mme. de 
Ponty, who lived with her, was an excellent person, 
who took a serious interest in me, and grumbled 
and was displeased with my professor's laziness. 
" Fanny, what can you be thinking of ? The poor 
child will never make her debut in the way you are 
going on. We must put an end to it. I don't 
like the country, but out of friendship for Mme. 
George and the little one I have decided to leave 
for la Chapelle, and I shall bring them with me. 
There, at least, we shall keep you, and we shall 
accept no more of your bad excuses." The dear 
little woman sacrificed herself for us. 

Mme. de Ponty was a very distinguished person, 
the daughter of a former maid-of-honour to Marie 
Antoinette. The Revolution ruined her completely. 
She was imprisoned, and made the acquaintance of 
Mile. Raucourt in prison, where also were JNIUe. 
Contat and Mile. Vanhove. An intimate friend- 
ship arose between Mile. Raucourt and Mme. de 
Ponty, who was a little lady of studied elegance, 
witty and gracious, with a great ascendency over 
Mile. Raucourt, who spoiled her like a child. 

Mme. de Ponty had a very resolute character. 
The frail little woman loved very much when she 
loved at all, and defended her friends when they 
were attacked. She had a noble and courageous 



MEMOIRS 59 

character, and was a loyal and trustworthy woman. 
Her tastes were little in agreement with the exist- 
ence she had accepted ; she had lost everything 
and — necessity knows no law. How could she 
satisfy her tastes as a great lady without the 
friendly hand which Mile. Raucourt had offered 
her ? All this is sad and distressing. Let us 
pass on. 

At last we set out for Orleans. Mile. Raucourt 
spent the whole day in the park with her flowers. 
She grafted perfectly, but took too long about 
it. Did the lessons come ? Not at all. The 
grumbling began again. She was very angry, but 
gave in. Several good lessons followed — Emilie 
from Cinna, Amenaide from Tancrede, Idame from 
rOrphelin de la Chine, Phedre, Didon. 

A fortnight later, Lafont, the handsome Lafont, 
came to Orleans to give some performances there 
with Mile. Raucourt. Lafont, as you can well 
imagine, came every day to dine at Mile. Raucourt 's 
and spend all his free evenings. He was very 
amiable and gay, and was very entertaining in com- 
pany. The handsome Lafont made love to ine ; he 
assumed the sentimental. There was a charming 
wood, and he managed to separate me from the 
company. I let myself be led, J frankly confess. 
We stopped one day in front of a fine large stone 
forming a kind of rock. There he made me an 
honest proposal, swearing that he would do every- 
thing to obtain me in marriage. " I will take 
an oath," he said, as if he were speaking to 



60 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Zaire, " before this rock, which we will call the 
rock of Ariadne." 

" You frighten me. Monsieur Lafont, since it 
was on a rock that Ariadne died of grief on being 
abandoned by Theseus." 

" My dear little friend, that is very different. 
Theseus was a libertine, but Lafont is an honest 
man." 

That was a piece of buffoonery, and we laughed 
together over it. We stayed a little too long, as 
it proved : the company had regained the house, 
the dinner-bell was ringing, and we started to 
run. They were at table — just imagine ! 1 was 
very silly and very red. My mother frowned 
horribly. Mile. Raucourt was cold to Lafont, 
and blamed him for making me late. " My dear 
comrade, I hope this will not happen again." 
It was a sad dinner. There were some excellent 
dishes, but I ate nothing at all, so frightened was 
I of finding myself alone with my mother, who 
was very strict. Good little Madame de Ponty 
laughed, doing all she could to restore a little 
life into the conversation. In the evening, games 
were played, and some visitors came : the mis- 
adventure was forgotten in giving way to the 
happiest laughter in the world. My little mother 
was begged to forgi^^e my giddiness. Lafont pur- 
sued his idea of marriage. But my charming 
Gascon did not at all want to be precipitate, he 
would wait for my debuts. A prudent fellow for a 
son-in-law, " he wished to give me time," he said. 



MEMOIRS 61 

" for reflection." He did well, my Orosmane of the 
Midi : I reflected and became convinced that mar- 
riage was not at all to my taste. Even then I had 
an independent character. Poor Lafont, with his 
bourgeois habits, what would he have done with 
me, and, good Heavens ! what should I have made 
of him ? " The knight with the long face," I 
think. 

We received visits from Paris, and time was 
spent in making up water-parties, and in visiting 
the beautiful properties, so famous on the banks 
of the Loiret — La Source, La Fontaine— truly 
admirable places. 

We were present at Lafont 's and Raucourt's 
performances at Orleans. On the days when 
there were no performances, we played at puss-in- 
the-corner in the courtyard. Mile. Raucourt de- 
lighted in these frolics. She said good-bye to 
ceremony, and was as merry and childish as I. 
She entered into the game with delightful good- 
nature and animation. She was an extremely witty 
woman, she was so amusing when she imitated her 
world. Sometimes she had fancies I did not care 
for at all. For example, she loved shooting passion- 
ately. She took her gun and dog and game-bag, 
and set off" in a little white skirt, which reached 
just to the knees. She was the classical Diana, 
with limbs as beautiful as hers, and long, delicate 
and charming feet. There she was, shooting in 
her park under the full sun. Once, she said to me, 
" Come with me : you will see how you will enjoy 



62 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

yourself." Never having had martial tastes (I had 
put down " masculine " but the word seemed too 
strong), I trembled all over. 

" No, please don't take me. I should be dread- 
fully afraid, I know quite well. I don't like 
shooting." 

" Coward ! " 

" Madame, leave me with mamma and Madame 
de Ponty : I will study ; I like that better." 

" Come now, you inustn't be so cowardly. If 
you are so frightened, how will you make your 
debut before a full house ? " 

"Madame, that house will not be composed of 
rabbits, and I shall not be afraid of guns." 

{All this is true though very childish, but you 
asked me to put down all my little silly ways, and I 
will not shirk it. ) 

So I followed the implacable Diana. At each 
shot I fell to the ground with the poor little rabbits. 
For did not the beautiful huntress tell me, when 
she thought she had taken good aim, to run after 
the poor little beast and bring it back to her ? 

" As for that, madame, no. I revolt ; I can't 
obey you ; I shall not come back. You will 
wait a long time for your rabbit. I shall be found 
dead first." She burst into laughter. Mile. Rau- 
court was really kind. All these recollections 
cannot interest any one, I know quite well, but 
my heart rejoices to recall them. How happy 
one is at fourteen ! Everything seems true to 
you, you see everything at its best ; you believe in 



MEMOIRS 63 

friendship, in devotion, in love ! I believed in my 
handsome Lafont's love, who seemed perfect to 
me. When he spoke to me, when during our 
evening game my hand met his, my blood rushed 
back to my heart, I ceased to breathe. Later on 
one sees that all is false and everything calcula- 
tion ; friendship is very rare, devotion still rarer ; 
oh, yes, very much rarer. Love, certainly, gives 
you some illusions, makes you live ; it tortures 
you, often bruises your heart, but it does animate 
you. That is something ! It is impossible to 
live in a dead calm, but I think there is some- 
thing really genuine — that is maternal love. Dear 
Lafont, no more walks, no more chats : after 
glances and deep sighs, and then the hope which 
gives life ! 

To utilise the evenings, Mile. Raucourt thought 
of making me rehearse in costume. She had several 
faded costumes at the bottom of an old case, and a 
foil diadem. So there I was disguised as Hermione, 
Cornelia, whatever you like. I was very proud of all 
those fine feathers. All the notabilities of Orleans 
were invited, the clever people of the county, and 
the poets of the neighbourhood. I have no need 
to tell you of the kindness with which I was sur- 
rounded. Out of courtesy to the professor and 
indulgence to me, praises were lavished on me. 
" What ! She is only fourteen, and she is going to 
play Clytemnestra ! She is a prodigy ! " 

My professor was flattered by the prediction of a 
great success for her pupil. This prophecy aroused 



64 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Mile. Raucourt at last. She felt that she must 
busy herself with me : her amour propre was at 
stake, so lessons were not lacking. When I had 
to recite I was terribly afraid ; I neither slept nor 
ate, my mouth was dry, and I had all the evidences 
of fear. " Bah," I was told, " you are not truthful, 
when you tell us of your fears: beginners fear 
nothing. They scarcely understand what they are 
taught: they are little parrots." Thanks! Then 
one must be stupid to dare! Well, madame, 
mamma will tell you that at five years old I 
trembled like a leaf, so much so that she was forced 
to remain near me behind the scenes, moistening 
my lips with sugared water. However, once before 
the public I was a different girl ; the applause in- 
toxicated me and I thought of nothing but my part. 
Besides, I have always been very timid. How many 
times, before coming on the stage, feeling myself 
paralysed with fear, I have prayed God to send me 
an accident which might prevent me going on. 

An accident ! in truth, I longed for death. How 
indulgent the public would be if it could guess 
what was passing in the heart and head of an 
artiste at the moment of battle. Yes, it is an 
assault ; it needs courage and it is generally believed 
to be an amusing calling. What a deep error ! It 
is a profession which works upon the emotions, 
breaking you, attacking your nerves and rending 
you asunder. How could it be otherwise? The 
existence of an actor is quite different to that of 
the world; in our health most particularly. We 



MEMOIRS 65 

cannot have habits. If you play you must dine 
at three o'clock and pick your food ! Sup, then, 
which you do not do when you are resting. Lunch, 
then, at ten o'clock. How the stomach accommo- 
dates itself to all these changes ! Do you wish to 
take advantage of the beautiful sun and go for a 
walk, like everybody else ? No ; you must dine, be 
at your dressing-room at five o'clock, and in the 
place of the sun be smothered by the heat of lamps. 
Are you in a good temper ? Are you gay at heart ? 
Do you wish to laugh? The three knocks are 
heard. Quickly assume your visage of Lucrece 
Borgia or Cleopatra, neither of which is more 
amusing than the other. 

And the artistes of the gay sort. They have 
their troubles, too. I believe it is much harder to 
make people laugh when the heart is wounded than 
to make them cry when one desires to laugh. Dear 
public ! Do not envy our lot; it is slavery. 

Let us return to Orleans, to leave it. Lafont 
left after the performances, and Mile. Raucourt, 
to her great regret, was obliged to quit her adored 
Chapelle. 

So here we are at Paris ; we in the rue des 
Colonnes, Mile. Raucourt, rue Thibaut, in the 
same house where Mme. Dugazon hved. The 
debuts were drawing near. Mile. Duchesnois,^ 
a pupil of Legouve, a protegee of JNIme. de 

1 Duchesnois (Catherine-Josephine Rafuin), bom at Siant- 
Saulnes, near Valenciennes (Nord), June 5, 1777; made her 
debut at Versailles, July 12 ; at Paris, August S, 1803; 

E 



66 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Montesson and the General de Valence, who was 
working to get her passed first ; but Mile. Rau- 
court had been promised by the Minister of the 
Interior that I slioiild pass before the otlier aspir- 
ants. I worked every day. We were reaching the 
end of our little miseries. A great deal of interest 
was taken in us. IMy little sister was entered at 
the dancing-school of the Opera, managed by 
M. Lebel, under the supervision of M. Gardel. 
My brother Charles was admitted as second 
violin to the orchestra of the Theatre-Feydeau, 
owing to the influence of his master, the good 
Kreutzer. 

All was bustle and excitement. ISille. Raucourt 
herself felt that she must be up and doing. She w as 
received very often by Mme. Bonaparte, the wife 
of the First Consul. We set off for Saint-Cloud, 
and Mile. Raucourt was instantly admitted. I 
saw the beautiful and gracious Josephine for the 
first time. She came towards us with that smile 
which at once attaches you to her. Her eyes were 
so sweet and attractive ; she was so kind. She 
placed you at your ease, but with that distinction 
and elegant simplicity which belonged only to 
her. There was in all her person a suavity which 
magnetised you. It was impossible not to bow 
before that mysterious influence, that sweet charm. 

Societaire, March 17,1804; pensioned, November 1829; died at 
Paris, rue de la Rouchefoucauld, January 7 to 8, 1835 ; interred 
at Pere-Laehaise, avenue des Acacias (monument Lemaire) 
(Georges Monval, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 67 

One loved her before she spoke; one felt that 
she brought liappiness with her. 

She asked Mile, llaucourt to allow me to 
say some lines. I recited a scene from Idamc, 
which caused Mme. Bonaparte to weep ; a mater- 
nal scene could not fail of its effect on Josephine's 
heart — for she was such a good mother. She 
wished to embrace me, with large, beautiful tears 
still in her eyes. " My child, your talent will be 
maternity. You have moved my heart." We 
left enchanted. " Good-bye, dear llaucourt ; I 
hope to see you soon. Bring back this little 
rogue who has made me weep." 

{All that is Imtorical. Vou have the power of 
dilating upon such things, but I am too stupid to 
turn them to account.) 

Mile. Raucourt profited by her delight to make 
a little trip to la Chapelle. To visit her trees and 
grafts is more important than to guard against 
all that might be done in her absence. 1 shall 
certainly never make my debut. That which 
we feared actually happened. An order was 
obtained for the debut of Mile. Duchesnois. " All 
the better," I said to JNlme. de Ponty, " and quite 
right, too. It is natural, they think, that Mile. 
Raucourt doesn't care, since she goes away just 
at the time when her presence is most necessary ! " 
But what a fuss there was on Mile. Raucourt's 
return. " You see, Fanny, what is happening, 
thanks to your negligence and your love for your 
trees. An injustice is being done you. It is an 



68 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

act of infamy and treachery, a personal insult 
which is being flung in your face. You have 
only got your deserts." JNIlle. Rau court was 
piqued in her amour propi^e ; she who was so im- 
perious. Her friends hasten to her. " Don't allow 
this injustice, Fanny ; it is really an impertinence." 
One would have thought that Paris was convulsed. 
After all, I did not mind coming out second. I 
laughed in my sleeve at all this chatter, and at 
heart (it was naughty, if you like) I was not very 
sorry to see Mile. Raucourt annoyed to this small 
extent. For why does she go to la Chapelle ? All 
these comings and goings, all this uproar and 
continual hubbub finished by tiring me out ; and 
at the end of those stormy days I was happy to 
return with my little mother to the rue des 
Colonnes, to my poor little room, where I could 
play with my little sister. 

Next day INIUe. Raucourt told me to make my 
toilette ; that she would come to fetch me at mid- 
day to go to Saint-Cloud. My toilette ! A white 
muslin dress of girlish fashion ; my hair waved a la 
Titus; bare arms, long grey gloves, a httle blue 
sash : that was my best apparel ! The excellent and 
charming Mme. Bonaparte listened to all that Mile. 
Raucourt told her about her disappointment with 
indulgent patience. " Well, my dear Fanny " (she, 
too, called her by her Christian name), "don't disturb 
yourself so; you will be ill, my dear. Come, let 
us talk a little and be calm. What harm can the 
debuts of Mile. Duchesnois do to this charming 



MEMOIRS 69 

child ? The lady is twenty-eight, they say. She is 
made ; she must already be all she ever will be. 
What comparison can be established between a 
woman of twenty-eight and a child of fourteen ? 
None; be reasonable then. And you, dear child, 
what do you think about it? You are not so 
upset as your professor, are you ? " She embraced 
me with such kindness that I began to cry like 
a stupid. How kind she was. "Ah, see, she 
is crying! There, since it is such a great morti- 
fication, since you absolutely consider that she 
should make her debut first, I will beg the First 
Consul to come to me. He will decide." 

You can tell the fear which ran away with me 
to such an extent that I dared cry, "Oh no, 
madame, please don't send for him. I much prefer 
to remain with you quite alone, you are so kind, 
and I am not afraid of you. Besides, madame, I 
should bungle my business; I should be like 
an idiot before him. Then, as a matter of fact, 
it is all the same to me to make my debut after 
that lady. That will make me work with more 
ardour." 

"Do you consent, madame?" T said to Mile. 
Raucourt. " It is not necessary to bother him, nor 
madame either, who is so kind." 

Josephine began to laugh, but good-naturedly. 
Taking me in her arms, she said — 

" You see, Fanny, she is more reasonable than 
we are. We must do as she says ; that will bring 
her good luck." (It is you, madame, who will 



70 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

bring me good luck.) " Then we shall all be there 
to applaud our little protegee." 

{Historical. Not a word more, not a word less.) 

At last I am in the carriage, opposite Mile. 
Tlaucourt. 

She made a sour face. " Little idiot, you've made 
a mess of it ; the Consul would have given the order. 
The good Josephine did not insist when she saw 
you so stupid, and I yielded. Come, now, no more 
reproaches, and take your courage in both hands." 

And now all sorts of visits followed in quick 
succession. 

" Come, we are going to visit Mile. Clairon. She 
brought me out, and although she has been very 
nasty to me, I can't get out of taking you to her. 
I owe her that deference." 

( We were very polite in those days !) 

Mile. Clairon received us very coldly. She 
was a small woman with glacial manners and not 
a little impertinence. She was most disdainful ; 
Mile. Raucourt kissed her hand, which she scarcely 
held out ; her glance was very important, but there 
was not the least good-nature in it. She was all 
pride, that woman ! Seated in a great arm-chair a 
la Voltaire, she did not in the least attempt to rise, 
greeting us distantly. She made me feel quite 
cold, and I wished myself far away. 

" My dear Madame Clairon, permit me to present 
my pupil." 

" Ah, ah ! You are training a pupil ! For what 
parts ? " 



MEMOIRS 71 

" At first she is to play the parts of great prin- 
cesses, and then of queens." 

" Ah, you are aiming pretty high. So you are 
training a pupil to succeed you. Well, I only 
hope she will give you more satisfaction than you 
ever gave me." 

This apostrophe displeased MUe. Raucourt. 

" But, madame, be so good as to consult your 
recollection ; if I have ceased to pay my respects 
to you, it is because you have wished it." 

" Ah ! bah ! Pupils are always ungrateful, except, 
however, the good Larrive, who has never ceased 
to pay me homage." 

Mile. Raucourt replied maliciously — 

" You treated him so particularly well, that he 
would have been doubly ungrateful to forget." 

The Clairon almost blushed. I say almost, 
for she was frightfully pale. 

" Come, very well ! Child, recite something 
to me." 

A choking seized me. I could never say any- 
thing before that face, which looked at me without 
the least expression of good-nature. Mile. Rau- 
court saw quite well the little desire I had to 
please that cold face, and she herself made haste 
to retire. 

" She is very husky, dear Mademoiselle Clairon, 
and to-day you could only judge her unfavour- 
ably.' 

" As you please." 

" If you permit, I will bring her again." 



72 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

The great Mile. Clairon made no reply, and we 
left. 

"She is pleasant, that woman ! What do you 
say? 

" I say she makes me feel as if icicles were being 
put down my back. I don't like that woman at 
all." 

" Let us go to the good Dumesnil."^ 

Ah, she was different ! We entered a small 
room on the ground floor in the courtyard of an 
old convent, rue des Filles-Saint-Thomas. There 
were some dwellings there belonging to the Govern- 
ment, where artistes obtained lodgings for nothing. 
This great artiste obtained this miserable favour. 
An old servant announced us. La Dumesnil was 
lying down (for several years she had been unable 
to get up) surrounded by chickens. I still see her, 
such an impression did she make on me, sitting up 
in bed — in a nightdress of blue silk, with a little 
cap surmounted with a knot of blue ribbon. 

" Ah, dear Fanny, how glad I am to see you ! 
Come and embrace your old Dumesnil. Who is 
the pretty child you have brought ? Come, my 
daughter, and embrace old Dumesnil as well." 

I devoured her with my eyes with incredible 

^ Dumesnil (Marie-Fran^oise Marchand), born at Paris, rue 
des Marais, January 2, 1713; Strasburg (1733); made her 
debut, April 6, 1737 ; received, October 8 following ; Societaire, 
February 2, 1738; retired, March 31, 1776; died at Paris, 24 
rue et barri^re Blanche, 1 Ventose, year x (February 20, 1803) 
(Georges Monval, Liste alphahetique, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 73 

curiosity. She had such an expressive physiog- 
nomy, and the eye and the glance of an eagle. I 
was stupefied. 

" Tell me, Fanny, is this your pupil you have 
brought ? " 

" Yes, good Dumesnil." 

" And when is she going to make her d^but ? " 

" Very soon, dear." 

" Ah, that's good. In what part ? " 

" Clytemnestra." 

She turned to me as if she were gazing at 
Eriphile. She was magnificent. 

" Oh ! oh ! At her age ! That's bold, you know, 
Famiy ! " 

" No, dear friend ; this little madcap has quite a 
maternal heart." 

" So much the better ; it is sentiment which 
attracts men as well as women. I will recite the 
first scene. Would you like me to, Fanny ? " 

" Would I like you to ? Are you laughing 
at me? What I desire, dear Dumesnil, is that 
she may be able to remember what she is going 
to hear." 

I heard a thunderous voice proceed from that 
thin little body, with a terse utterance, a realism 
almost familiar, but nevertheless dignified. At the 
^'erse — 

'' Et de ne voir en lid que le dernier des hommes" — 

Achilles appeared quite insignificant. Her glance 
on Eriphile caused the woman to shrink. One saw 



74 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOT.EON 

her bow herself ahnost to the ground beneatli the 
penetrating ghmee. And in the line — 

" El ce nesi pas (Jha/chax (jitc voux rJierchez" — 

every monosyllable had its value. 1 was enthralled 
and rooted in my place. I said in a low voice, " Ah, 
the immense woman ! AVhat jcalism ! They are not 
verses which she repeats ! No I it is an outraged 
mother, humiliated in her cluld. It is a woman 
who will very certjiinly avenge hersell' one day." 

" Fanny, how did la Clairon receive you ? " 

" You ask me ? V^ery badly." 

She began to laugh. 

" Ah, really ! So poor dear Clairon continues to 
play the queen ? She is always stiff and pedantic, 
isn't she ? That's all very well sometimes ; but 
you know as well as I tliat such a high-Hown, 
boml)astic style docs not appeal to the masses nor 
reach the heart of the public. Do you say that 
this child has feeling ? " 

'* I told you so, especially in maternity." 

'" Bravo ! bravo ! It is the most sympathetic 
sentiment. Hecite to me, child, the scene from 
Idame, where they wish to take away her child." 

1 repeated it at once without fear, but witli the 
emotion she had given me. 

"■ V^ery good, \ery good, little one! Dear me! 
See how my eyes are moist. You are right, the 
little one has maternal heart-strings." 

" But, Madame Dumesnil, 1 am just as fond of 
love." 



MEMOIRS 75 

" Heavens ! I believe so. She is riglit ! At 
your age, eh I I too Hked love ! " 

" Besides, niadame, for maternal love it is very 
necessary to know the other a little. " 

" Which love part do you like ? " 

" Why, Amenaide." 

" Yes, that is love, to be sure, but love unmixed 
with any other feeling. It is Hermione that you 
must study : that is love mingled with jealousy. 
There we have passion at its best. 15ut it is almost 
an impossible part to play — isn't it, Uaucourt? 
First, IJermione in love witli all her heart ; then, 
made fierce by wounded pride. The woman employs 
every means, irony stifled by the tears which she 
will not allow to How. It is not a cuttinjy and 
passionate irony like Roxane's. No, they are tears 
which she suppresses, and which fall back in her 
throat. It is wrong to wish to express a dry 
bitterness there. Clairon knew it, but she has no 
feelings. Then there is declamation to produce 
great effects. See, little one, you must know 
what to sacrifice, to cut, so as to reach unexpected 
effects. Above all, don't listen to authors ; tJiey 
want to lose nothing." 

" But, madame, is Hermione then so very 
difHcult?" 

" Ask your professor what is included in that great 
character. Auger, love, coquetry, and a disdainful 
coldness before the beautiful and touching Andro- 
mache — that classic sorrow ; one only whines, but 
never represents it. The uncertainty, outraged 



76 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

amour propi'e, the insults which she throws 
in the face of the fatalist figure called Orestes ! 
Two women are really needed to play that part. 
You have the beauty, little one, which is needed 
for Hermione, seek and find all the qualities. 
If you can unite them in yourself alone, you will 
become greater than we. If I am still alive, 
Fanny, come with her to tell me about her debuts. 
She interests me for herself and for you. Good- 
bye, children ; I am tired. 'J'he wretched theatre 
still upsets me when I speak of it ; it rouses me 
in spite of myself from my bed of repose, where I 
wish to end my days peacefully with my old 
servant and my chickens. Embrace me, botli of 
you, and good luck ! " 

I retired with little desire for Hermione. 
Dumesnil's talk about that personage would not 
leave my thoughts. I was almost paralysed when 
confronted with the part. I have played it often 
with Talma, and have always found myself want- 
ing in it, in spite of the applause of a too indulgent 
public. La Dumesnil kept appearing like a ghost, 
saying in my ear, " Ha ! I told you so, little one ! " 

On leaving Mile. Dumesnil, Mile, llaucourt, who 
liked to torment me witli a thousand questions, 
often very embarrassing for my inexperience and 
perfect ignorance of everything, tried to find out if 
I had any intelligence or ideas. 

" What do you think of the two women ? " 

" I, madame ? I dare not say what I think ; 
you would laugh at me." 



MEMOIRS 77 

" No, not at all. Speak freely to me. I question 
you for your good ; do a little by yourself" 

'* Well, since you wish it. Mile. Clairon does not 
appeal to me in the least. She seemed to me too 
much on her dignity. She has, I believe, nothing 
but dryness in her heart. Her insolent regard 
did not even impose on me, a little girl. She has, 
doubtless, much talent, but perhaps it is too deep 
and calculated. Isn't it true, madame, that one 
can be too deep ? Then there is no attraction, no 
spontaneity, nothing natural. I am very bold to 
express my opinion like this, I who know nothing. 
But still, why did Dumesnil leave such emotion 
in my heart ? Ah, how true and natural she was ! 
She played Cleopatra and Merope ; those two parts 
are so different ; JNIerope, all heart for her son ; 
Cleopatra, cruel, killing him with her own royal 
hands. \Vhat a subtle talent that immense actress 
must have had ! You told me how ^^oltaire, lis- 
tening to her performance of Merope, cried out in 
his enthusiasm, ' I did not create anything as fine as 
that. This sublime enchantress melts me to tears. 
Ah, my dear Dumesnil, you are the real creator 
of Merope. Wherever in the depth of your heart 
do you find those effects which bewitch all who 
hear you ? How beautiful, how pathetic you are ! ' 
Then as Cleopatra, that mother so coldly cruel. 
What a different tale ! You told me how in 
the fifth act, at the moment when Antiochus is in 
doubt, with a (Joubt too grievous for his tender 
heart, as to which of the women he loves could 



78 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

have poured out the poison, one of the spectators, 
penetrated by such a dramatic situation and having 
followed all Cleopatra's movements, signals to 
Antiochus, ' It is she, that one there,' giving her 
a blow on the back in his great indignation. You 
also told me how the house shook with applause, 
and the Dumesnil remauied impassive. She did 
not seem to perceive what was happening, nor to 
have felt the blow which the soldier had given her. 
Genius can go no further." 

IMUe. Raucourt listened to me quite seriously. 

" 1 see, dear child, you will do something. 
You are a thorough child, and you love playing 
pranks, but you do think and observe. That is 
well." 

I thought I should work without ceasing. The 
moment of my debuts approached. But it was not 
to be so. There were incessant visits ; the JNIinisters 
came, then all the family of the First Consul ; 
Lucien, who, like the First Consul, only loved 
tragedy ; the eminent Mme. Bacciochi, a thin and 
delicate woman, who was very much in the 
Emperor's confidence. We often lunched at her 
house with the Emperor's mother and Lucien. 
Then afterwards I had to recite. Lucien used to 
take part in the performance, giving me my cues 
and frequently playing whole scenes by himself. 

The Emperor's mother amused herself very 
much with these recitations. She was severe 
in appearance but noble and very beautiful, as 
well as good and indulgent. I was the protegee 



MEMOIRS 79 

of all that great family. Mme. Bacciochi had 
a great affection for me, and sent for me nearly 
every morning, and, although a great sufferer, 
made me recite. \Vhen I was alone with her 
she had fits of vomiting, which made her suffer, 
and very often during one of these rehearsals 
she was interrupted : " Pass me the basin quickly ; 
it will be nothing." Then, as a matter of fact, 
we started again with renewed ardour. What a 
courageous and charming woman ! 

Queen Hortense too, who liked Mile. Raucourt, 
often received us at that time. She lived in a 
mansion in the rue de la Victoire. Eugene Beau- 
harnais, who was everything that is dehghtful, was 
nearly always with his sister. Queen Hortense 
was very beautiful : she had the most lovely eyes 
in the world, and an angelic sweetness, charming 
hair, the figure of a nymph, a magnificent colour- 
ing, her complexion was fresh and smooth, and 
white as a swan. {Dear Valmore, you know that 
only you can paint her portrait, xvith the poetical 
expressions which are yours alone.) She had the 
exquisite kindness of allowing me to recite to her. 

One day when I was really fatigued and the 
perspiration was pouring from my forehead, she 
cried, " Poor child, I don't want her to go away in 
that state : she will be ill. Let us wrap her in this 
shawl," and, in spite of myself and Mile. Raucourt, 
she placed round me a large cashmere shawl which 
she had on her own beautiful shoulders. 

" I will return it to you to-day." 



80 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" Not at all. She shall keep it in remembrance of 
me. 

Yes, I kept it, good and beautiful Queen 
Hortense. I shall always keep it ; to me it is 
a relic. 1 would sooner die of hunger than part 
with it. 

All these remembrances are very dear and 
precious to me, and I have the sweet consolation 
of having never varied in my affections. I am 
poor : what does it matter ? I think I am rich 
in heart and especially in my devotion for 
that immense family which stretched out its 
hand to me in my youth. I shall have the 
honour of dying with my first sentiments. Perhaps 
I shall not leave enough money to bury me. It is 
quite possible ; such things have happened. I was 
never made to be a landed proprietor. I shall have 
a few spadefuls of earth and a few flowers from my 
friends. AVhat more does one want ? 

The excitement, the continual comings and 
goings, the new world in which 1 moved, the 
exhibition of my person in my own interest, for the 
sake of gaining popularity, all these things caused 
so many different emotions that I was thoroughly 
exhausted. Every evening my heart beat so vio- 
lently that it seemed to be bursting through my 
bosom. I was only too glad to get home to my 
little mother. 

" Are you happy ? " 

" Indeed, no ; all this bores me. I preferred play- 
ing my Petite Laitiere and Paul et Virginie better. I 



MEMOIRS 81 

was loved at Amiens. How do I know what will 
become of me ? Perhaps I shall be stifled in those 
great dresses. Then one wants so many things for 
tragedy. Then there is that INIlle. Duchesnois who 
is making her debut before me. Then there is 
Mile. Raucourt who everlastingly makes me tear 
about with her in her carriage. It is true that 
does not fatigue my limbs, but the lessons are very 
rare. See, little mother, I regret Amiens, our 
room, my piano, my operas. I regret it even to 
the little household duties which I was made to 
do, when I laid the cloth and nurse scolded me. 
' Hurry, Mimi, M. George is coming and you will 
be late.' Ah, how nice it was ! Then there was 
my loto, when you let me play it with you. How 
cross I was when I lost. And M. Baudry ! Do 
you remember how furious he was when he called 
the numbers. Scarcely were they in his fingers 
when I named them. ' This little girl is intoler- 
able. Forbid her, Madame George, to be so 
dishonest. You are bringing her up very badly ! 
You think mamma will scold me, but really you 
see you are amusing her. Will she or papa scold 
me ! They are too good for that, they love me 
too much. Ah, yes, I weep to think that I shall 
see no more of that. Stop, to-morrow we are 
again going to pass the evening at M. Roederer 's, 
at the Jardin des Plantes ; how amusing that will 
be!" 

{Dea?' friend Valmore, you must inquire what 
Roederer was, and what his position was at that time.) 



82 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" Why did Mile. Raucourt come to Amiens. 
What possessed my father to want to see me 
attired in a diadem. He would not give me to 
Mole, or to Mme. Dugazon, and yet he has given 
me to tragedy. That is odd ! " 

" There, Mimi, stop. It was for your happiness 
that we made the journey, that I separated from 
your father and gave up my position at my age. 
You have a good heart, you love us : don't forget. 
Be reasonable and kiss your little mother." 

The debuts of MUe. Duchesnois di'ew near, and 
mine were in preparation. Prince d'Hcnin, who 
was very fond of Mile. Raucourt and saw her very 
often, had just made me a present of a most beauti- 
ful tiger-skin for my part of Didon. At that time, 
Didon was played in the costume of a huntress, 
like the classic Diana with a bow and quiver, which 
was really quite beautiful. I began to find the 
details of attire very amusing. Trying on all the 
beautiful dresses made me forget the little dairy- 
maid and the loto. 

However, the Chinese costume of Idame suited 
me very badly. All my hair was dressed high on 
the head, a great bird of paradise (very rare) which 
the Empress-mother had given me, was perched 
on the top of my coiffure, and the magnificent 
feathers fell doA\ai my shoulders. The costume had 
the appearance of a big sack. What a fright ! 
Everybody said it suited me very well, and that I 
was superb with a plain forehead. I was not of 
that opinion. I thought myself very ugly and 



MEMOIRS 83 

had a dispute with Dubhn, who was the designer 
of the Theatre-Fran^ais, a man of wit, of talent 
even, but very headstrong as to the exactness of 
his costumes : " What ! you want to put me into 
that sack thing, and hide my arms, neck and chest, 
and you think I would dare to appear like that ! 
Why, I should be a laughing-stock ! " 

" And as for me," said the good Vanhove, who 
was playing Yamti, " what do you think, my child, 
he wants to do with me. He sews me all up, do 
you understand ? Not even a poor little place to 
put my snufF-box, and monsieur knows how fond I 
am of my snufF: but he likes to annoy me. You 
are a revolutionary. Monsieur Dublin." 

You can imagine the shouts of laughter. There 
was at that time a gaiety without pedantry. There 
was good comradeship, and every one knew his 
worth — a charming equality reigned. Talma and 
Monvel^ "thou'd" Dublin, who "thou'd" them in 
turn ; as did even a certain Marchand, famous for his 
nose without end and for the smallest and meanest 
figure in the world ; his whole wretched person dis- 
appeared beneath his gigantic nose. The poor devil 
only did the announcements, but he put an alto- 
gether comic importance into it. It was he who 

^ Monvel (Jacques-Marie Boutet), born at Luneville, March 
25, 1745 ; made his debut, April 28^ 1770 ; received, April 
1, 1772; left, July 1, 1781 ; reader to the King of Sweden 
and manager of the French troupe at Stockholm Theatre in the 
rue Richelieu, 1791 ; member of the Institute, 1795 ; General 
Congress, 1 799 ; retired, March 1 , 1 806 ; died at Paris, Febru- 
ary 13, 1812 (Georges Monval, etc.). 



84 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

was charged with the duty of bringing the chairs on 
to the stage in Trissotin's scene in Femmes Sava?Ues, 
and of letting himself fall while carrying a chair. 
He begged Talma, JNIichaud, and all who were there 
to come and see him. When the effect had been 
great he was generally congratulated. 

" Really, Talma, aren't you flattering me ? 
Were you pleased ? Tell the management, then. 
You really see that it is an injustice to keep me 
back in my career." 

Talma was naive, and quite a big child, to amuse 
himself with all these pleasantries. 

This was the Talma whose glance caused trem- 
bling and agitation in all the audience, but who in 
private life was gentle, simple and peaceful. 

We never bothered about money and only 
dreamed of success. We were real artistes. 

Among these simple artistes without pride there 
was, however, one whose pride was often imperti- 
nent. Monvel told me how one day, at a full meet- 
ing, the very imperial Clairon, who regarded her 
comrades as vassals, said — 

" You must know, messieurs, that when I play 
two or three times, I keep you for a whole month." 

" Dear Mademoiselle Clairon," replied Mole, 
making the bow of a marquis, " that is why I am 
so thin." 

Mile. Contat had her share of arrogance, but she 
was very witty and charming when she wished to 
be so, but it was a fancy she rarely had. One only 
approached her if she allowed it. A great talent I 



MEMOIRS 85 

A great woman ! She had an enchanting head and 
the most beautiful black eyes you could imagine ; 
her glance was piercing, her mouth smiling and 
derisive. Her talent was large and free ; the grand 
manners of the court, head high in the air. She 
acted for pleasure. 

One ought never to see her in sentimental parts, 
for it was impossible to throw the least melan- 
choly into that physiognomy. The guilty mother, 
the jealous wife— ah, it was no longer Mile. Contat I 
Her voice then became shrill, her tears were 
repressed. It was enough to make one suffer. 
But she made up for it when she reappeared by 
making fun of every one. Once in the Comedie des 
Femmes, where she was irresistibly furmy with 
Fleury, who yielded nothing to her in persiflage, 
in a certain scene with him in which she wished to 
assume a sentimental tone, he said to her, " Let us 
leave tragedy alone ; you liave too much charm in 
playing comedy." 

They were applauded ten times without the help 
of claqueurs. The latter met with little favour ; 
indeed, they were often shown the door. Perhaps 
it was as well. 

The theatre at that time was quite different. 
There was a certain amount of petty intrigue to be 
put up with, but that went on without too much 
scandal. Theatrical jealousies existed and always 
will exist, but the emulation had something more 
noble about it : there was a desire to do better 
than one's predecessor, and we worked seriously. 



86 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

The public then was very enthusiastic and very 
strict, so one had to be always on one's guard. 
Knowing that negligence would soon be punished, 
we strove to become true artistes. It was an 
art, and not a trade. It is nice to be a real 
artiste, and not dream of the future. To be 
preoccupied with the future is such a sad, parsimo- 
nious business. Commercial ideas do not go with 
the arts: we want exaltation and sublimity. With- 
out that perpetual fever, how could one h'dve the 
courage to appear before a public which is going to 
watch you, wait on you, which magnetises you, and 
must be magnetised to place you in sympathy with 
it ? When you have obtained during your perform- 
ance an enthusiastic success, you return to your 
dressing-room quite panting and feverish, to be 
surrounded with homage. Do you think of keep- 
ing accounts ? In sooth, little does it matter to you. 
You pay — when you can — your cook without 
troubling yourself if he cheats you of a few carrots. 
How can you be an artiste if you enter into such 
details ? The famous comedian, Baron, once said, 
" Actors should be reared on the laps of queens ! " 
He was quite right, there is no sordid calculation 
there. 

And now we come to the debuts of Mile. 
Duchesnois. She made her debut at Versailles. 
It was the custom. The Theatre-Fran^ais was 
not turned into a school of mutual instruction, 
a grotesque exhibition of people, men and women, 
saying to themselves on waking, ''I want to 



MEMOIRS 87 

play tragedy ; that genre amuses me. I shall 
make my debut at the 'rheatre-Fran9ais ; if I 
do not succeed — well, I shall go on to Quimper- 
Corentin." 

( Kalmore — / do not know in what part Duchesnois 
appeared ; I think it was Didon.) 

Her success was but moderate. People came to 
tell Mile. Raucourt, who was delighted, together with 
her numerous friends. There was a great alarm in 
the enemy's camp at this lack of success. There 
was an agitation. M. Legouve, the teacher of 
Mile. Duchesnois, was naturally very disturbed. 
Mme. Legouve, a woman of wit and intelligence, 
neglected nothing, and employed every means to 
obtain a brilliant revenge. JNIme. de Montesson, 
General de Valence, all were under arms. In fact, 
all forces were under arms not to fail in this second 
attempt. It was only fair. Dear Mile. Duchesnois 
was like me : she needed a success. Born of a very 
poor family, what would have become of her ? She 
was good, and wished, like me, to make them 
happy. 

Women were not wanting at this perform- 
ance ; women are so kind and indulgent. When 
they hear any one say, " How unfortunate that 
the debutante should be so lacking in physical 
charms." 

" Not at all ; she is quite nice-looking, and has a 
very good figure." 

" Yes, but she is very thin and dark." 

" Do you think so ? You are very hard to please. 



88 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

As for me, I find her quite pretty enough. For her 
talent's sake it is lucky she is not beautiful : she will 
attend more zealously to her art. Flatterers and 
admirers will not come to disturb her studies ; 
she will become a great artiste. We shall come 
and listen to her often and take pleasure in seeing 
her." 

" I can quite believe you," replies the husband ; 
" you will always gain by comparison. Ah ! the 
women will go mad about the Duchesnois." 

However that may be, JMUe. Duchesnois had 
a very successful debut. She had some very nice 
qualities : a melodious voice, great ardour, and a 
beautiful pronunciation. 

She has been reproached with chanting her lines, 
with psalmodising ; that was Talma's opinion espe- 
cially, and he spoke tragedy so well. As for 
me, it is not my place to judge Mile. Duchesnois. 
The rivalry, I will even say quarrel, which they 
wanted to establish between us, imposes silence 
on me, and I must keep my young opinion to 
myself^ 

Her debuts being ended, those of Raucourt's 

^ In 1803 there appeared a little work entitled "The con- 
spiracy of Mile. Duchesnois against Mile. George Weymcr^, to rob 
her of the crown, with evidence gathered by M. J. Boullault. 
This work is dedicated to the Stalls, Orchestra, Boxes, Balcony, 
Pit, and even the Gallery of the Thcatre-Fran9ais." Published 
at Paris by Pillet jeune, place des Trois Marie, near Pont Neuf, 
and by Martinet, rue du Coq Honore, n. 124, year xi, 1803. The 
work contains no less than eighty pages ! What a passion there 
was for the theatre in those days ! 



MEMOIRS 89 

pupil were awaited with curiosity. It was very 
piquant to see the pupil of fourteen in the presence 
of la Duchesnois. 

" What a draw for the public to see the two 
debutantes struggling. It will be amusing." 

Who would be the victor ? Attention was 
divided : there was quite an excitement, and the 
box-office was besieged. The theatre is a great 
affair ; people would rush from all parts to get seats 
with the same ardour that excites them to-day at 
la porte de Mires to obtain shares. 

At last here I am, though still a child, in the 
arena ! I am announced : Clytemnestra in Iphigenie 
en Aulide. My debut ! 

{Here, friend Valmore, are the newspapers ; you 
will see the date there.) 

Mile. Raucourt presented me to the general 
assembly ; all the Comedie-Fran^aise gave me a 
maternal reception. I owed that to the friendship 
and regard they had for Mile. Raucourt. {Respect 
and good manners were the custom.) I was treated 
like the child of the house. The next day there 
was a rehearsal, and Mile. Raucourt presented her 
pupil. I received all the encouragements so 
necessary at this supreme moment. Mile. Raucourt 
was more excited than I was. I was ignorant of 
the danger, laughed, and amused myself with 
everything to such a point that on the eve of my 
debut, while returning from the rue Taitbout, I 
had a lark in the rue des Colonnes, knocking and 
ringing at every door. I only had a few hours 



90 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

more of that existence of joy and indifference 
before plunging right into a life of excitement. 

At midday the crowd thronged all the doors 
of the theatre. {That is true, dear Madame 
Vahnore ; I am. not lying.) At half-past four, to 
enter at the stage-door, the guard had to be sent to 
clear a passage, and poor Mile. Raucourt managed 
to sprain her foot ; but the courageous woman would 
not leave me. She had herself carried into my 
dressing-room, and her doctor came to dress her 
foot. She looked very touching, and I cried a 
lot. 

" There, my child, calm yourself. It is nothing, 
and I am in no pain." 

She was taken into a small proscenium-box which 
looked on to the theatre. My entry was received 
with favour. I had the good luck to obtain a great 
success in my first scene. My fear was slight, 
although the house was full ; the First Consul was 
in his box, and the good and charming Josephine 
and all the family were present at the debut. The 
pit was filled with actors and people of distinction. 
All Mile. Raucourt's friends were there : Mme. 
Dugazon's son, Danty, Audinot's son, the manager 
of the Ambigu-Comique, all devoted friends ; 
Casteja, an old prefect ; the Duke of Fitz-James, 
Prince d'Henin all were in the audience. On my 
side, my brother in the pit, and my sister in the 
stalls, put on all my mother's old gloves to make 
the most noise possible in applauding. 

After my first scene, my fear increased, but 



MEMOIRS 91 

action came to my help. Mile. Vanhove played 
Iphigenie ; Mile. Fleury, Eryphile ; Saint-Prix,^ 
Agamemnon ; Talma, Achille. My dear Talma 
was hissed as Achille, the partisans of the 
handsome Lafont were irritated at not having their 
Lafont. How Talma had his revenge in the same 
part, which became one of his finest ! The feeling 
of the public against Talma began to trouble me. 
Every moment. Mile. Raucourt sent me a message. 
" It is going well. Keep firm. There is a cabal. 
Don't be afraid, but keep on trembling all the 
same." 

On reaching the fourth act, at the grand tirade — 

" Votis ne demeniez pas une race funeste " — 

I was several times interrupted by hearty applause. 
Everything was certainly going too splendidly. The 
malcontents vented their animosity on me at the 
verse — 

" Avant qu'nn noeud fatal Vunit a voire fir re." 

There was a murmuring, the malevolence was too 
cruel. Mile. Raucourt cried to me from her 
box, "Begin again!" I began again. The same 
murmurs. It came to clapping, and there was much 
applause. The First Consul disowned the cabal by 

1 Saint-Prix (Jean-Amable Foucault), born at Paris, rue de 
Crenelle, Saint-Honore, June 9, 1758; bourgeois comedy, 
la Montausier's Company at Versailles ; made his debut on trial, 
November 9, 1782, and was received; Societaire, March 24, 
1784 ; pensioned, April 1,1818; died, October 28, 1834 (Georges 
Monval, Liste alphabeiiqve des Societaire, etc.). 



92 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

applauding. There were cries of, " Begin again." 
And I began again with more ardour. Saint-Prix 
said to me, " That's right, child. They want to 
intimidate you, but don't give way." The third 
attempt was carried at the point of the sword, and 
my success was all the greater because it was a 
protest against palpable malevolence. I was re- 
called with frenzy. Mile. Raucourt could not 
appear. Some one came forward to express her 
thanks and explain the accident which prevented 
her from responding to the honour which was being 
done to her. It was a rough evening for professor 
and debutante ; and indeed for friends as well, 
for they came into the dressing-room quite in 
perspiration, and some had torn clothes, since it had 
come to fists. My poor brother, Charles, had his 
hands covered with blood. The good Kreutzer was 
also in the audience ; he was in rags, but he was 
such an artiste, and so enthusiastic. There was 
a general embracing. 

" What a grand evening, Raucourt." 
" Yes, indeed, it was pretty hot. The little 
madcap never lost her head, though there was 
reason for it." Monvel said to me — 

" Good, little one ; did you know the line — 

" ' A vaincre sans peril, on lrio7nphe sans gloire ' ? " 

Mile. Contat did not ffiil, for the sake of her dear 
Fanny, to be present at the debut. After the per- 
formance she went at once to Mile. Raucourt 's box. 
She embraced me repeatedly, a very rare thing for 



MEMOIRS 93 

her. Even Mile. Raucourt said to me, " You 
ought to be very proud." 

The First Consul and Josephine sent to compli- 
ment Mile. Raucourt and to inquire about her 
sprain, and all the family of the First Consul did 
the same. Ah ! can that evening ever be forgotten ? 
No, never ! Those recollections are never effaced. 
The crowd of fashionable people and of artistes who 
were squeezed together in the dressing-room, which 
could scarcely contain them all at once, was very 
fine and imposing. There was the good Mme. 
Dugazon,la Saint- Aubin, the artistes from the Grand 
Op^ra, all had met to support Raucourt's pupil ; in 
those days there was such fraternity among great 
artistes. 

We supped at Mme. Dugazon's. Oh, the advice 
I had to listen to ! I was taken aside. 

" You did very well, my child ; but at your 
second debut avoid copying your professor." 

Another said, "Always do as Mme. Raucourt tells 
you. INIind your walk, and don't raise your arms 
too much. Follow your inspiration, that is much 
better ; give yourself up to nature, and don't play 
away from it." 

Still another said, " Don't be afraid. It is better 
to overshoot the mark than not reach it." 

There were too many suggestions for my experi- 
ence to be able to distinguish the good from the 
bad. As a matter of fact, my head was in a whirl. 
It was a real Chinese puzzle. 

I returned home worn out. JNIy father and 



94 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEOK 

mother decided that henceforth we would return 
home for our modest repast. 1 played Clytemnestra 
again. I cannot speak of the crowd which came 
to my debuts. Only it should be known that they 
lasted for more than a year with a full house. My 
second debut was more brilliant, and without 
a hitch. Then I played Amenaide in Tancrede, 
a part which I liked very much, and which was 
very fortunate for me. What shall I say of 
my early successes ? But you can peruse, dear 
readers, if you like, the newspapers of that period. 
The part of Idame from I'Orphelin de la Chhie 
brought me fresh honours. I was credited with 
depths of maternal tenderness, and, indeed, I loved 
these mothers' parts. I felt more at ease while 
playing them. Then followed Didon, Emilie, from 
Cinna, and finally Phedre. Ah ! I found that so 
frightfully difficult that I trembled like a leaf. 
Mile. Raucourt made me play it, however. She 
made me work at it more than all the others. 
Then I said to her — 

" It seems to me that for this woman who doesn't 
eat I am far too healthy." 

" Imbecile ! Am I thin, then ? INIust one look 
like the beggar of Pere Lachaise to play Phedre 
well ? She does not eat, true ; but it is only for 
three days." 

"Ah, yes, of course; that reassures me." I 
played with more confidence. 

Josephine had sent Mile. Duchesnois and me 
our costumes for Phedre. They were very beau- 



MEMOIRS 95 

tiful, trimmed with gold. That of the Duches- 
nois was more elaborate — a red cloak spangled 
with stars, a veil, etc. Mine was more simple — 
a Marie-Louise blue cloak, with simple em- 
broidery. The First Consul sent me a remittance 
of three thousand francs, and the same sum to 
Mile. Duchesnois. 

We were very happy in our little family after 
my first performance of Phedre. With what 
appetite I ate my good lentil salad ! But my beau- 
tiful mantle had quite torn my arms. My nurse 
rubbed them with the oil from our excellent 
lentils. 

" Bah ! that's nothing, ma bonne. What do a 
few scratches on the arms matter when one has 
had such a beautiful evening ? The First Consul 
was there again with his good Josephine. She 
wanted to see me in her beautiful costume. It 
suited me well, didn't it, father ? " 

What good luck all at once ! The next day 
Mile. Raucourt, who put fabulous sums into 
lotteries, gained a trey^ and made me a present 
of two little dresses. Of silk, you think ! 
Not at all, if you please, but of cloth — which 
was quite good enough for the poor debutante. 
Poor, but happy. Charmed and dazed by my 
successes. The crowd which surrounded me, and 
everything was dazzling to me. When I went to 
the play I was given a royal reception. What 
illusions for a poor little strolling player from the 
country ! 



96 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

{Here, dear friends, are the papers ivkich will 
enable you to classify the paints of my ddbuts, and 
perhaps you may reproduce some extracts : that ekes 
out the sauce. ) 

We thought of moving to settle in our furniture. 
Yes, really, our furniture. A little flat was 
found in the rue Sainte- Anne, at the corner of the 
Clos-Georgeot — an entresol which looked on a 
little bit of a street, right opposite a black- 
smith. A charming neighbour, which charmed 
my sleep, and did me the service of making me rise 
two or three hours earlier. 

Our fine furniture consisted of a black horsehair 
suite for the drawing-room — yes, the drawing-room, 
although my dear mother slept there. But it 
had a recess curtained off, so it was a drawing- 
room, and it had a little table in the centre. Then 
there were chairs in the dining-room, and in my 
bedroom a table and a chest of drawers, which I 
still keep as a souvenir. There was, besides, a tiny 
dressing-room, with a couch and table, which I was 
pleased to call my boudoir. We were right at the 
back of the courtyard, and, to complete our com- 
fort, there were stables below us, with hvery 
coaches kept for hire by Mme. Arsene. That 
dear creature was long in my service. I never 
pass along the rue Sainte- Anne without glancing 
up at my four bow-windows, which are still there. 
Heaven grant that they may not be demolished ! 

Mme. Germont, Josephine's couturie7^e, occu- 
pied the first floor in this house, and I often looked 



MEMOIRS 97 

in. I used to amuse myself very much with the 
work-girls, for — shocking, scandalous thing ! I say 
it to my shame !— we would, in the evening, run and 
play hide-and-seek in the road. That was a nice 
thing to see the debutante (who, doubtless wrongly, 
was causing all Paris to flock to her) playing in the 
street like a naughty urchin ! So I was thoroughly 
well scolded by my mother and Mile. Raucourt 
when the crime was discovered. I was to behave 
like an artiste, and be bored. 

Lucien Bonaparte, whom I always saw at his 
sister's, Mme. Bacciochi, where I repaired nearly 
every morning, sent me a beautiful scarlet necessaire 
and a hundred gold louis. That made me wild 
with pleasure, and I danced all around my 
necessaii^e. As for the money, I didn't know what 
to do with it — that was for mamma. 

But, alas ! the good Lucien left for Italy. He 
had just married ; he, a widower, had married a 
widow. One staunch protector the less for me, 
and I was also deprived of his good advice in 
tragedy, which he was passionately fond of. 1 be- 
lieve that, in spite of his love for his new bride, he 
had a little fancy for me ; he even spoke of his plans 
to Mme. Raucourt with all the delicacy possible. 
He wished to place me in a house of my own, giving 
me all the masters possible ; my mother, my poor 
little proud and distinguished mother, was even 
spoken to about it — my future was assured. I was 
even taken under a pretext to see the house, and they 
ended by telling me that it should be mine. 



98 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

but that I must live in it alone. Ah ! very likely ; 
but what is the good of your house to me without 
my people ? Why, I should die there. I don't 
want it, and refuse it with all my heart. But all 
this happened a long time before his departure, 
which one was far from foreseeing, but still the 
day of departure came. 

Ah, the men ! they love you and deceive you. 
But perhaps in this case there was a perfectly 
honourable and straightforward desire simply to 
make me happy ! Such things are possible, such 
things have actually been known. They are rare, 
I grant, but still they have happened, as I am 
about to prove. 

Prince Sapieha 

In the midst of all the noise and splendid success 
one had to be on one's guard. You understand 
that many overtures and proposals were made, 
and how could it be otherwise ? On the stage one 
always has admirers, handsome and ugly ; one 
is assailed by them. My mother received and 
refused these proposals, as was her duty. A sister 
of my mother's came to stay with us ; she was my 
sister Oribelle's godmother, a very good hearted 
woman, but quite a coquette, giddy and incon- 
sequent, and not in the least strict. I liked her 
very much, and the reason is easy to find ; I told her 
things I never would have dared to tell my mother. 
Besides, she flattered me — decidedly one likes to be 



MEMOIRS 99 

flattered. Whenever I played, my mother had a 
thousand observations to make— and she was right. 
My aunt always found me superb — she was wrong, 
still she pleased me. Then she told me all that 
she had heard. Alas ! she doubtless lied ; she did 
me harm, but she gave me pleasure. My mother, 
on the contrary, used to say to me, " I heard some 
one say that you ought to pay more attention 
to your walk ; that your exits were faulty, while 
your delivery was sometimes too hurried, so that 
the words lost their charm." 

My mother was right, but it did not please 
me. Treacherous flattery is our undoing, yet 
we love it. We are always discarding the good 
and choosing the evil. That which should have 
drawn me to my mother estranged me, that which 
should have estranged me from my aunt drew me 
nearer to her ; by her exaggerated praises she 
attracted my confidence. Oh ! how was one so 
young to understand and distinguish between good 
and evil ? 

I lived very simply, and went on foot to the 
theatre through the frightful passage Saint - 
Guillaume. However, I had been given the 
luxury of a dresser — an indispensable luxury. I 
would never have consented to see my mother in 
the wings holding my glass of water ; besides she 
would not have done it. She never came behind 
the scenes ; she had her box, and kept to it all the 
evening. I find it so humiliating and out of place to 
see a mother at her daughter's side ; that gives 



100 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

material for objectionable interpretations, at least 
that is my way of looking at it. I had many 
little worries to experience from my rivals, and 
many vile anonymous letters, a despicable custom 
which was indulged in too inuch. When I played 
well I got them from soured people ; but that was 
such a small matter that T bothered myself very 
little about it : it animated me in fact. Opposi- 
tion always suited me — it was a stimulus which 
spurred me on. One day, however, an infamous 
thing was done to me. I was to play Phedre 
in the evening. At noon I received a wretched 
little paper which said that at Abbeville, during 
a performance, some rubbish had fallen from the 
side of the theatre, and had hit the conductor of the 
orchestra — the conductor was my father. You 
may judge of my fright and despair. Heavens ! 
What was I to do ? There was no railway and no 
electric telegraph. I did not wish to play — I was 
going to start at once ; I felt dead. At four o'clock 
I received a letter from my father. Life returned 
to me — what a shock I had been given ! T wrote 
at once that I would play ; but the blow had been 
so violent and lacerating that 1 arrived exhausted 
at the theatre, and at the fourth act I fell on 
the stage at the side of the good Mme. Guen, 
who was playing Ql]none. She was such a frail little 
woman that she was unable to lift me, so 1 had to be 
carried off. The public, which was so kind to me, 
asked for news, and Florence announced that it 
was impossible for me to continue. There was not 



MEMOIRS 101 

a murmur. The rumour of the cause of my fainting 
soon spread through the house. The authors of 
such an infamy were sought out and recognised. 
I could have pursued the matter to make a scandal ; 
but I have never cared about it. Rivalry often 
makes you very cruel ; so much the worse for her 
who has the evil instinct, she will be punished for 
it. A few days afterwards I thought no more 
about it, I only said in the person's ear, *' You 
were very cruel ; but it's all the same — go on, 
you will end by amusing me very much." 

( That is a fact. It was the good Duchesiiois who 
had had the aiiicle inserted. ) 

I was not without visitors, especially foreigners, 
who are generally very fond of artistes and their 
society. There was an old Marquis de Veuil, who 
was always in observation, and who constituted 
himself the cicerone of every stranger of distinction 
who arrived. The marquis led a jolly life, and kept 
a carriage. How did he manage to keep up such 
an existence ? No one knows. But still he was 
received everywhere. People are so indifferent and 
easy in Paris. You come in a carriage, you wear a 
ribbon in your lapel ; you are the man to do the 
right thing: so, it is understood that you are 
received everywhere. He came to visit me in my 
dressing-room, nearly always accompanied by some 
handsome gentleman covered with orders, and 
always a foreigner ! The old marquis presented 
them all to Count de Livry's set, a set where 
play went on. Doubtless the old marquis got his 



102 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

commission from the introduction. He asked 
permission to pay his respects to me at home (he 
was very polite, the old marquis). 

" Come, by all means, marquis, I will receive you." 

He visited my modest retreat, and was very 
surprised. 

" Well, yes, marquis, you see how it is. T am 
quite comfortable." 

" Good gracious, what a noise ! One can scarcely 
hear oneself speak." 

" Don't get alarmed : it is my neighbour the smith, 
who, unfortimately for your delicate ears, is very 
busy to-day. It is very annoying, and I am very 
sorry about it. As for me 1 am used to it." 

" But you can't stay here." 

" 1 am going to stay here unless you have a 
palace to offer me. Till then T won't be separated 
from my blacksmith : I am fond of him." 

" Dear young lady, one needs to be young like 
you to endure such a din." 

" I endure it and laugh at it." 

" I came to beg you to receive Prince Sapieha, 
a distinguished man, who adores artistes and seeks 
their society. He goes to your performances every 
time, and he will be very happy if you will receive 
him." 

" Why not, if my mother allows it ? We receive 
many people, as my neighbour the smith can tell 
you ; so I can receive Prince Sapieha." 

My aunt encouraged this reception a great deal ; 
perhaps she liked Poles I 



MEMOIRS 108 

The prince was presented to me. He was 
certainly a very distinguished man, tall and slender, 
with a refined and charming physiognomy. He was 
elegant without affectation, very simple, which is 
a sure sign of an aristocrat. He stayed but a short 
time, and did not load me with compliments, which 
is, again, very distinguished in a man of parts, and 
obtained leave to come next day. He returned, 
and asked permission for me to accept as homage 
to my youthful talent a superb red cashmere shawl, 
a lace veil, and a small trinket for the neck, with 
a chain and a small medallion. My mother said to 
him — 

" Monsieur, if you offer these presents to the 
artiste, she will receive them as an artiste." 

Prince Sapieha, really a great noble, was smitten 
with me, not with love to be sure, but he felt a real 
attachment. He regarded me as a child who is 
amused with everything. Prince I^ucien before his 
departure sent me a magnificent scarlet necessaire ; 
at the bottom of the silver-gilt teapot were a 
hundred golden louis. 

" Just look, mother, here are some gold pieces. 
Take them quickly. Ah, how good M. Lucien is to 
think of his little protegee ! I will go and thank 
him." 

I was received next day at noon ; he said to 
me — 

" Dear child, that is such a little matter. I 
wanted to do more to make you independent 
and happy." 



104 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" But I am very happy." 

" Yes, for the moment ; but consider how uncer- 
tain everything is. You are young : think of 
the future. The pubHc is capricious ; try to make 
yourself independent before retiring, in case you 
experience a reverse." 

He had taken my arm, and was trotting me 
about the garden, moraHsing. He was right. He 
led me to my carriage, which he ordered to advance 
to the grille which looked out on the rue de 
rUniversite. There was, and is still, a pump at 
the same place. I never pass there without giving 
a glance at the great gate and thinking gratefully 
of Prince Lucien. 

He left next day. I promised to write to 
him about everything which happened to me. I 
did it for some time, and then no more ; I was an 
ungrateful creature. I reproached myself about it, 
but too late. The past one forgets too quickly, one 
can never recall it : it is too late. Alas, those 
words, too late ! It is frightful ! 

I very much wanted a pair of bracelets made of 
some one or other's hair, with two large roses for 
clasps. I had seen these bracelets at a little one- 
eyed jeweller's. They cost a fabulous sum : two 
hundred francs. It was not to be dreamed of. Out 
of Prince Lucien's hundred louis my mother bought 
them for me, and placed them without telling me 
in my iiecessaij^e, which I used to visit at least ten 
times a day. I leave you to imagine how delighted 
I was. What a long time I kept the two little 



MEMOIRS 105 

bracelets ! They cost me a fabulous sum in cotton 
wool. I changed it every day, which amused 
Prince Sapieha very much. 

" You can't remain in these little lodgings ; 
you must look for others. Don't bother about 
anything else." 

My aunt went on the track, and in the rue Saint- 
Honore, No. 334, opposite the mansion of M. 
Lebrun, the Third Consul, I was taken to look at 
some apartments on the first floor with a large 
balcony. Ah, if only they do not pull down that 
beautiful house and my dear balcony, my first 
luxury ! Fancy, apartments at 2,400 francs, with 
coach-houses and stables ! 

" Ah, aunt, how beautiful it is ; but there is no 
furniture, there are no horses." 

"Reassure yourself; I am charged with all 
that." 

" By whom ? " 

*' By Prince Sapieha." 

" Indeed, by Prince Sapieha ! That is aU very 
well ; but I don't like him, so I wish to accept 
nothing." 

" He knows that, but it makes no difference to 
him ; he wants you to have a nice establishment 
such as you deserve." 

" He doesn't want anything else ? Well and 
good." 

After all my conditions had been properly fixed I 
let the generous nobleman do all he desired. It 
may appear very strange, perhaps, to meet with so 



106 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

much disinterested magnificence. It exists and has 
existed for me, and doubtless for many others 
besides. Have we not seen people who have left 
legacies to artistes in their wills ? Prince Sapieha 
gave his bequests during his lifetime, which is 
much greater and more nobly generous. He 
made people happy at once. It is much better 
to be blessed in one's lifetime than after one's 
death. It is less egotistical ; that which one gives 
one has no more, so that only to give after one's 
death is but miserly generosity. 

I was consulted about my tastes. They were 
very few ; on leaving my little retreat everything 
seemed luxury to me. I had my bedroom in 
lilac and embroidered muslin. As for the boudoir 
which led into my room, I would let nothing be 
placed there, keeping it for my maid ; I was too 
big a coward not to have her near me. The 
drawing-room was in pink silk, and black velvet. 
The dining-room was entirely in white. In those 
days luxury was very modest, the middle period 
did not exist, and Boule furniture M'^as unknown. 
It was a mistake ; it is really beautiful. There 
is now such elegant taste in furniture. Besides 
the springs are so good, the sofas so comfortable, 
instead of our hard furniture. We had everything 
classical, which was doubtless very elegant, but 
very gloomy and severe. In the niidst of a 
Grecian setting one could not put on the airs of 
a Pompadour. One would have looked grotesque. 
Tunics and coiffures a la Titus were worn ; it was 



MEMOIRS lor 

a very pretty style, but sad to have to cut off one's 
beautiful hair. One became half a man. The Indian 
muslin tunics were very charming, and it was 
really nice to have bare shoulders and arms. But 
how wretched for the thin women ! One had to 
be somewhat statuesque to carry the costume to 
advantage. Statues show their shoulders, bosoms 
and arms. I was very astonished when I saw 
tragediennes covered right to the neck like men. 
I said to myself : Perhaps everything has changed. 
The statues of to-day are more modest ; they 
wish to be dressed like vestal virgins. To be 
sure it is more proper ! Morality demands it ! 
People have become so chaste. Besides, it suits 
thin women so well. Still Venus and Diana have 
their admirers. But perhaps they, too, will soon 
be veiled. Let us hope so : morality demands it ! 

{Dear Valmoi'es, both of you please excuse my 
nonsense.) 

Let us return to human matters. Here I am, 
then, in my apartments. There is nothing lack- 
ing, but my head is not the least turned with 
all the splendour. I walk on the magnificent 
carpets. I see myself reflected in superb mirrors, 
but I look no more frequently ! 

My good prince was happy in the kindness he 
was doing me. Every day there were pleasant 
surprises. China was everywhere, even on the 
little table in my bedroom ; the table was also 
classical, with gilded fauns' feet and white marble. 
While I was at the play my nurse came to dust ; 



108 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

she was very tidy and very clumsy. The table 
was upset, and all the beautiful china smashed. 
Poor Marianne, how she feared my return, or, 
even more, my mother's. What was to be done ? 
As for me I laughed. 

" There, don't torment yourself. I would rather 
that than be ill. Tell mamma, and, above all, 
don't answer back, and go quickly to bed ; to- 
morrow it won't be seen any more. Bah ! we 
will get some others ; only it doesn't do to be so 
tidy!" 

We were pretty nearly " en famille." My 
mother and my aunt were always very in- 
dulgent. My brother Charles, who was first 
violin at the Theatre de Feydeau, did not live 
with us, but came to dine every day with his family. 
My good father was still at Amiens, and travelled 
frequently to Paris. We kept a carriage, and my 
aunt had brought with her a little boy, the son of 
her bonne, a poor woman who died at Amiens in a 
frightful way. My aunt had just taken a foot- 
bath in a china basin. She got back to bed and 
rang for Jane to take away the basin. My aunt 
lived on the second floor, with windows and a 
balcony. Unfortunate woman ! The bath water 
was soapy ; the basin slipped, and in trying to catch 
it Jane fell on to the pavement, and her head was 
smashed. A frightful sight ! My aunt was very 
grieved to lose the woman in such a way, who had 
been in her service for twelve years, so she looked 
after her orphan son. It was the same little Joseph 



MEMOIRS 109 

whom I dressed as a jockey, what we call a tiger 
to-day, who stood behind the carriage in the day- 
time. Joseph was very happy, but in the evening 
he was terribly afraid, and we were obliged to take 
him with us inside the carriage, much to our 
amusement. Poor little fellow ! We were very 
fond of him, and we did not wish to make him 
unhappy and doubtless ill through fear. " Some one 
will catch hold of my legs. Oh, do take me inside ; 
I shall fall." 

Life was full of gaiety. There were artistic 
triumphs and passionate declarations. On reaching 
home I was always sure of finding a good number of 
the latter, and among them some very curious ones. 

One day I had an appointment at the Catacombs. 
Fie ! horror ! I could only be seen there, I was 
told ; it was necessary to act with mystery ; the 
considerations which had to be watched were so 
great, but I need not be in the least afraid. My 
position would be compromised in acting with less 
prudence. " I know how you inspire an illustrious 
personage ; it would be dangerous for me if the 
passion you inspire me with were perceived. 
Trust me, then, and come ; if I am fortunate enough 
not to displease you, I swear that a visit in a place 
which at first must seem gloomy to you shall not 
be renewed. My ardent desire is to dedicate my 
life to you, and place my fortune at your feet. If 
you consent, stand this evening at midnight before 
your window." 

Very well, yes, I will stand at the window. 



110 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

but to laugh at you. You can wait for me, amiable 
lover, in the midst of your charming retreat of 
bones, and place your sighs and your fortune there. 
Come then, Clementine (my maid) ; he is a fool or 
an assassin. His proposal is a nice one ! If he makes 
many such offers of his fortune, he will keep it for 
a long while. That lover is nothing but a Jew, and 
a Jew and a Gascon combined ! 

This droll lover pursued me with three or four 
letters ; then I heard no more mention of him. I 
was wrong not to take the letters to the prefect of 
police. To-day one would not fail to do so. The 
imbecile fears to lose his position, he says, and 
places his fortune at my feet ! Renounce your 
position, impassioned man, and unmask yourself in 
the open day ; then, perhaps, we will consent to 
look at you. What soft pleasantry ! 

Another, who was of a good family, said if I 
would consent to receive him, he would disguise 
himself as a woman. That would certainly have 
been fun ! But I never admitted travesties. 

Another announced himself under the name of 
M. Papillottes {Mr. Curling Papers). This seemed 
humorous ; my maid had seen him. He was a man 
of about forty-five, nice, with good manners, but 
very original. He slipped into the theatre, and 
when I played chatted with the gentlemen and 
ladies. With me he assumed the air of a dear 
papa. One day he heard me cough. 

" Allow me to send you some sir op des ties, it 
is excellent for the chest." 



MEMOIRS 111 

" Thank you, monsieur, I shall be very pleased." 

Next day, I actually received boxes of sirops, 
liqueurs des lies, and sugar-loaves. Ah, the good 
man is a wholesale grocer ! He came to see me, 
the dear fellow ! Ah, there was no danger in 
receiving him. What a singular personage ! 

" Ah ! you have a bad hair-dresser. He puts in 
your curl-papers very badly. Let me arrange them 
for you." 

Heavens I perhaps he is a wig-maker ! I laughed 
with Clementine till I was nearly ill. 

" Come, give some paper to monsieur, since he 
wants so much to do my hair." 

" No, no, your paper is no good. I have mine 
in my pocket." 

" Doubtless, Clementine, he is an insolent hair- 
dresser." 

" Have you also your curling-irons ? " 

" No, mademoiselle, there is no need to use heat 
for my curling-papers. Just let them stop in two 
hours, and your hair will curl wonderfully ; you 
will see how pleased you will be." 

I yielded my head to him, and he fixed I don't 
know how many curl-papers for me, then he said — 

" Will you let me visit you in a few days ? " 

" Certainly." 

" Clementine, never let that man enter again : 
you understand ? Come quickly, remove all the 
paper, and tidy my hair. The beast of a man has 
pulled it and hurt me horribly. Come quickly, 
and remove the dirty paper." 



112 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

"Good gracious, what queer paper! Look, 
mademoiselle ! " 

They were banknotes ! Why, of course, he was 
a banker. There were at least twenty notes, each 
for 500 francs. 

{My good friend Valmore, it is time, I swear to 
you.) 

Ah, that fellow had no need of Catacombs ; but 
" Papillottes " is a very pretty name, and I hope he 
will stick to it. 

I had enough of M. Papillottes, who had placed 
his twenty 500-franc notes on my head. In spite of 
monsieur's golden coiffure, he bored me, and very 
often I refused him the door. That was a pity, for 
the dear man was very much in love with his hair- 
dressing profession, in which he acquitted himself 
so well, only asking humbly to kiss my hand. 
His was a courtesy extremely rare, but in spite of it 
I had to put an end to it : all his curling-papers 
could not rid me of the somnolence his presence 
caused me. 

The elegant Prince Sapieha was witty and very 
amusing. I saw him rarely ; he had a frenzied 
passion for play, which occupied him exclusively. 
Besides, he did not care at all about love : I 
interested him and that was all. He was really 
my friend. Friendly conversations are apt to 
languish. 

" How are you, my dear child ? " 
" Quite well; and you, prince ? " 
" I am very tired, dear. I spent the night at 



MEMOIRS 113 

play, and am done up this morning. Ah, you played 
Amenaide yesterday. Had you many people ? " 

*' A great many ; besides the First Consul was 
there." 

" Diable ! Is the First Consul, then, so fond of 
tragedy ? He goes nearly every time." 

"It is true, but Talma always plays with me, and 
the First Consul is very fond of Talma. As for me, 
I feel more animated when I see him in his box, 
and he knows it. He must see himself some- 
times among those great heroes ; I am sure he 
talks with them. He is so great, too, is our 
First Consul ; grandeur suits him so well, and 
how handsome he is ! I should like to see him and 
speak to him. I am told his voice and speech are 
very soft. And what a pretty little hand ! it is 
seen to perfection, for he places it in front 
of his box. Very likely there is some amorous 
intention in that. Why not ? Great men have 
their weaknesses, too." 

"My dear, you are mad about your First 
Consul." 

" No, I am not mad about him ; I like and admire 
him, the same as everybody else. You see, when 
he enters his box, the women rise and applaud him, 
but still they are not mad about him. It is the 
enthusiasm of delirium ; it is no use to keep order. 
Really it is a regular outburst." 

I believe the prince was not of my opinion. Ah ! 
if he had said a word against my Consul, I should 
very politely have shown him the door. I have 



114 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

always loved the name of Napoleon : it was my 
cult, and I have never changed it. I have never 
been so silly as to have opinions — I, a woman and 
an actress ! But I have allowed myself to adore 
his name, and my affections have always remained 
faithful. I have never hidden them, and have 
proclaimed them to whoever wished to listen to 
me. It is of no consequence — still it comforted my 
poor heart. 



Ill 

Bonaparte — Liaison with the First Consul — Talleyrand — Talma 

My first interview with the First Consul. 

I had just played Iphigenie en Aulide (Clytemnes- 
tra). The First Consul was present at the per- 
formance. On returning home I found the Consul's 
chief valet. Constant, who came to beg me, on behalf 
of the Consul, to allow myself to be taken next 
evening, at eight o'clock, to Saint-Cloud, because 
the Consul wished to congratulate me himself on 
my success. 

I was seized with a kind of fright, I who some 
days before had manifested to the prince my 
ambitious desire of speaking to the Consul. The 
occasion was offered and I was petrified. Was 
I content ? Indeed, no, and at that moment I 
was very little desirous of grandeurs. What was I 
to do ? How was I to answer Constant, who was 
there with his jolly face seeming so astonished at 



MEMOIRS 115 

the immobility of mine ? What a strange thing is 
the human heart ! 

I who had never thought of Prince Sapieha, 
thought of him then ; of him who was so excellent, 
such a great noble, who offered me everything I 
could desire, who was so amusing, had such charm- 
ing manners, asking nothing but to kiss the tips of 
my fingers, leaving me in perfect liberty and in my 
peaceful innocence, a thing agreed upon and 
adhered to between us. What could I desire more ? 
Nothing ! Well, if I had to be ungrateful I was 
going to be so with a vengeance. I confess curiosity 
settled it, or self-love : how do I know ? I replied 
to Constant, '* Tell the First Consul, monsieur, 
that I shall have the honour of repairing to Saint- 
Cloud to-morrow. You can come and fetch me at 
eight o'clock, but not at my home, at the theatre." 
At the theatre ? Why ? I don't know at all. I 
suppose to compromise myself at once. Foolish 
vanity which took possession of a poor young girl ! 

After dismissing Constant I was very sad. I 
passed a quite restless night and was very discon- 
tented with myself. What shall I say to the 
Consul ? What does he want of me ? Besides, 
he could quite well come to me. Certainly this 
interview is worrying me, and I am very much 
tempted not to go to Saint-Cloud. In spite of 
these reflections I speculated how I ought to dress. 
In white or pink ? An elaborate toilette or a 
pretty neglige ? Bah ! I will see to that to-morrow. 
I am going to sleep at last. Heavens ! why has the 



116 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Consul taken a fancy to see me ? He is master, 
and one can't refuse. That is quite right : it is not 
my fault, I couldn't refuse. So let us go to sleep. 

At eight o'clock I rang for my maid. 

" Well, Clementine, I haven't closed an eye. I 
wanted badly to ring for you and chat. Come, let 
us talk. AVhat am I to put on to go there ? " 

" Ah, mademoiselle, what a bad temper you are 
in I How many others there are who would like to 
be in your place ! " 

" Do you think so ? That's nice." 

" Yes, certainly, mademoiselle ; if the Volnais, 
the Bourgoin,^ or even Mile. Mars herself could be 
called in your place, they would be overjoyed. Just 
imagine, it is the First Consul ! If you don't 
understand, it is because you are quite a child." 

Clementine was a shrewd, sharp maid, who 
understood how to get the upper hand. She 
pricked my amour propre through my vanity : she 
made her point. Poor humanity ! 

The day seemed to me immeasurably long. 
I could not stay still ; I went to the bois de 
Boulogne ; I visited my perfumer and milliner. 
At the theatre I met Talma. 

" What is the matter with you ? You look 

^ Bourgoin (Marie-Th^rese-fitiennette);, born in Paris, rue des 
Deux-Anges, July 4, 1781 ; made her debut, September 13, 1799 ; 
fresh debuts, November 28, 1801 ; Soci^taire in March 1802; 
retired, April 1, 1829; died in Paris, April 11, 1833; interred 
at Pere-Lachaise (Georges Monval, Lisle alphabetique des 
SociHaires, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 117 

quite distraught. I wish you good-day, and you 
do not reply and push past me. Are j^ou ill ? or 
are you angry with the manager ? " 

" It is you, Talma, who are mad to say what you 
do. There is nothing the matter with me." 

Fleury took me by the hands, the old scoffer. 

" Come, look at me. To-day you are as red as a 
cherry, you who are generally as pale as the lily of 
the valley. Are you angry ? Look, Contat : don't 
you note a strange air about her, an air of conquest ! 
Ha ! ha ! there is something up 1 " 

Ah, mon Dieu ! is it known already ? What do 
these people mean, then ? 

" I have a headache. Can't I have a headache ? 
You have the gout badly. Monsieur Fleury, and 
you laugh at me. Well, are you in a good temper 
when you have the gout ? " 

" Oh, what a naughty girl ! Don't let us talk to 
her any more, she is in the mood to treat us all 
badly, even her well beloved Talma. Let us 
embrace her as a punishment and be off." 

Charming and amiable Fleury ! he was always 
a marquis, even in his slippers and dressing-gown I 

I returned home quickly. It seemed to me as if 
I had a tablet on my back, on which was written 
my appointment. Six o'clock at last. " Come, 
Clementine, dress me ; a white muslin neglige, but 
nothing on my head, a lace veil, a cashmere shawl — 
that is all. I am going to the theatre to pass away 
the two mortal hours. Come with me : you can 
tell me when Constant comes." 



118 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

I installed myself in a box to be quite alone. 
Volnais found me there. Heaven bless her ! 
What a bore ! Misanthropie et repentir was being 
played : I shall never forget. 

" Are you going to see all the show, George ? " 

" No ; and you ? " 

" Neither am I ; I have something on at nine 
o'clock." 

(Good. She has, too.) 

" Where are you going, then, in such a fine 
toilette ? Is there a ball somewhere ? " 

" No, I am going to a soiree. Your dress is splen- 
did." (I confess I preferred mine ; it was simpler.) 

Poor Volnais. She was going to our brave 
Governor's, General Junot. The dress presaged 
the bad taste of her admirer. The liaison had 
lasted a long time. She planted on him children 
he was not responsible for, but which Michelot had 
taken the trouble to manufacture. 

{That is f 07' you to see to, my dear Valmore.) 

Clementine came. 
" You are waited for." 

"Ah, Clementine, how I should like to return 
home ! " 

I found Constant at the foot of the staircase at 
the stage door. We got into the carriage driven 
by the celebrated Cesar, who was rather too fond 
of the bottle. This habit had its advantage ; on 
the day the bomb was to be thrown in the rue 
Nicaise it saved the Emperor and Empress, who 
were on their way to the opera, for Cesar, being 



MEMOIRS 119 

somewhat intoxicated, drove his horses with such 
rapidity that the frightful attempt failed. 

At last we are off. What passed within me on 
the road it is impossible to describe. My heart 
beat enough to burst through my bosom. I did not 
talk. From time to time 1 said to Constant — 

" I am dying of fear. You would do well to take 
me back home, and to tell the First Consul that I am 
indisposed. Do that, and I promise you to come 
another time." 

" Ah, very likely ! I should be well received ! " 

" But when I tell you, monsieur, that my fear is 
so great that I could not say a word, that I shall 
be frozen, and your First Consul will consider 
me the greatest stupid he has ever seen. Do you 
know I shall be very humiliated ? " 

Constant laughed quite heartily, which seemed 
very rude to me. 

" Reassure yourself. You will see how kind 
the Consul is, you will very soon be rid of your 
fright. Be calm, he is waiting for you with lively 
impatience. Ah ! here we are ! Come, made- 
moiselle, reassure yourself, but, of course, go on 
trembling." 

We crossed the orangery, then we reached 
the bedroom window which looks out on the 
terrace, where Roustan was waiting for us. He 
hfted the curtain and closed the window after me 
going to another room. Constant said to me : 
" I am going to tell the First Consul." 

There I was alone in that large room ; there 



120 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

was an immense bed in the background, opposite 
the mndow, large green silk curtains, a big sofa 
stretched before the fire. There were large can- 
delabra filled with lighted candles ; and a big 
chandelier. Heavens ! it is lit up as if for a ball. 
It is frightful. Nothing can escape his glances ; 
a spot of rouge would be seen. Everything is 
large here. There is not even a little mysterious 
corner where one can undress ; everything is open. 
This is too fine for me ! Let me take that arm- 
chair. There, between the bed and the fire-place, 
I shall be a little hidden ; I shall not be noticed 
immediately. Ah, that reassures me a little ; then, 
with my veil well lowered, I shall be bolder. 

I hear a little movement. Ah ! how my heart 
beats ! It is he. The Consul enters by the door 
which was at the side of the fire-place, which leads 
into the library. 

{All these details will seem futile to you, my dear 
Marceli7ie ; I think, though, they ought to be given. ) 

The Consul was in silk stockings, white satin 
knee-breeches, green uniform, red facings and 
collar, his hat under his arm. 

I got up. He came towards me with that 
charming smile which only belongs to him, took 
me by the hand, and made me sit on the enormous 
sofa. He lifted my veil, which he threw on the 
ground without more ado. 

My beautiful veil ! That is kind of him ; if 
he walks on it he will tear it for me. How 
disagreeable ! 







i/g,7tanfiM)iy 



MEMOIRS 121 

" How your hand trembles ! Are you then afraid 
of me ? Do I seem terrible to you ? I found you 
exceedingly beautiful yesterday, madame, and I 
wished to compliment you. I am more amiable 
and polite than you, as you see." 

" How is that, monsieur ? " 

" How ! I sent you a remittance of three 
thousand francs after seeing you in Emilie, as a 
proof of the pleasure you gave me. I hoped 
you would ask permission to present yourself to 
thank me. But the beautiful and haughty Emilie 
did not come." 

I stammered, and did not know what to say. 

" But I did not know ; I did not dare to take 
the hberty." 

" Oh, a poor excuse ! Were you, then, afraid of 
me ? " 

"Yes." 

" And now ? " 

"Still more." 

The Consul laughed heartily. 

" Tell me your name." 

" Josephine-Marguerite." 

*' Josephine pleases me, I like that name ; but I 
would prefer to call you Georgina. Hein ! would 
you like it ? I wish it." 

{This was my name with all the Emperors 
family. ) 

"You do not speak, my dear Georgina. 
Why?" 

" Because all these lights fatigue me. Have 



122 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

them extinguished, I beg you ; it seems to me I 
shall be more at my ease to listen to you and 
reply." 

" Give your own orders, dear Georgina." 

He rang for Roustan. 

"Extinguish the chandelier." 

*' Is that enough ? " 

" No, half these enormous candelabra besides." 

" Very good. Extinguish them." 

" Now does it seem too much ? " 

" Not too much, just enough." 

{Dear Madame Valmore, all these details will 
seem very childish to you, but they are true, tJiough 
badly told by me. In your haiids they will be 
charming. Such taste and delicacy is needed ! You 
possess all that.) 

The Consul, sometimes fatigued by his glorious 
and responsible duties, seemed to take some 
pleasure in being with a young girl who spoke 
simply to him. It was, I think, a new experience 
for him. 

" Come, Georgina, tell me all you have done. 
Be simple and frank, and tell me." 

He was so kind and simple that my fear 
disappeared. 

" I shall bore you. Then how can I tell you 
everything who have no brains ? I shall be a very 
bad story-teller." 

" Never mind, tell me all the same." 

I told the tale of my poor little existence ; how 
I came to Paris, and all my troubles. 



MEMOIRS 128 

" My dear child, you certainly were not rich ; 
but what is your position now ? Who gave you 
this beautiful shawl, veil, and all the other 
things ? " 

He knew everything. I told him the whole 
truth about Prince Sapieha. 

** That is good ; you do not lie. You will come 
and see me and will be very discreet. Promise 
me." 

He was very tender and delicate. He did not 
wound my modesty by too much fervour, and was 
glad to find a timid resistance. Heavens ! I do 
not say he was in love, but quite certainly I 
pleased him. I could not doubt it. Would he 
have put up with all my childish whims ? Would 
he have spent a night in his desire to convince 
me ? Moreover, he was very excited and desirous 
of pleasing me ; he yielded to my continuous 
prayers for indulgence. 

" Not to-day ; wait, and I will return, I promise 
you." 

He yielded — that man before whom every one 
was pliant. Perhaps I charmed him ! We went 
on so till five o'clock in the morning. And since 
eight o'clock in the evening, that was time enough. 

" I should like to go." 

"You must be tired, dear Georgina. Good- 
bye till to-morrow, then. You will come ? " 

" Yes, gladly. You are too kind and gracious 
for one not to love you, and I love you with all 
my heart." 



124 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

He put on my shawl and veil. I was far from 
guessing as to what was to happen to those poor 
objects. In saying good-bye he kissed me on my 
forehead. I was a silly ; I burst out laughing, and 
said to him — 

" Ah, that's splendid ! You have just kissed 
Prince Sapieha's veil." 

He took the veil and tore it into a thousand 
pieces ; the shawl was thrown under his feet. I 
was wearing, too, a little chain round my neck, 
which carried a medallion of the most modest of 
stones, the cornelian ; on my little finger a ring 
even more modest in crystal, where Mme. Ponty 
had placed some of Mile. Raucourt's white hairs. 
The little ring was snatched from my finger, and 
the Consul crushed it beneath his foot. Ah ! he 
was then no longer gentle. I was afraid, and said 
to myself, " It will be some time before you see me 
again." I trembled. Then he became quite gentle 
again with me. 

" Dear Georgina, you mustn't have anything 
except what comes fi'om me. Do not sulk with 
me ; that would be wrong, and I should have a 
poor opinion of your feelings if it were other^vise." 

It was impossible to be angry with this man for 
long ; there was so much sweetness and tenderness 
in his voice that one was forced to say, " After all, 
he acted quite rightly." 

{Oil my life all this is true.) 

" You are quite right. No, I am not angry, but 
I shall be cold." 



MEMOIRS 125 

He rang for Constant. 

" Bring a white cashmere shawl and a large lace 
veil." He accompanied me as far as the orangery. 
" Till to-morrow, Georgina, till to-morrow." 

That is literally my first interview with that 
immense man. Constant said nothing to me ; he 
did well. I was not disposed to converse with 
him. He fell into a slumber, and did nothing but 
snore on the journey. But I did not sleep. I 
thought the Consul very charming but very violent. 
It is nothing but an existence of slavery. I am going 
to give myself, without the least hope of liberty, 
and I am very fond of my independence. Shall I 
return to-morrow as I promised him ? I am 
undecided. He pleases me ; I find him so kind 
and gentle with me. Then how do I know that it 
is not a caprice ? It would be very sad and very 
humiliated to be left. Night brings counsel ; let us 
wait. On reaching home Constant said to me — 

" This evening, at eight o'clock, I will come and 
fetch you." 

" No, I have not decided ; come at three o'clock, 
and I wiU see. Tell the Consul that I am a little 
tired, but I will do my utmost not to break the 
promise I made him." 

Talma came to see me. I told my good Talma 
everything. 

" AVhat ! you hesitate ? Are you mad ? See 
what a position it is for you. You do not know, 
child that you are, the First Consul. He is 
quite a good sort. I do not know how long 



126 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

his taste for you will last, but I am certain that he 
will always be kind. An honest young girl, who, 
in spite of all the temptations which surround her 
has not yet fallen, will not be abandoned. You 
have told me, and I believe it." 

" You are right to believe me, good Talma. Why 
should I lie to you ? " 

{My dear, yoit sec how delicate it is to say: not 
yet ''■J'allen.'^ Still, it should be known that this 
was my first step on account of the co?itinuity of 
this illustrious connectio7i. To-day I am so stupid 
that I should scarcely be suiyrised to find myself 
eating hay. I despair of making anything out of 
my nai'rative. Fortunately you have the ability 
and the poetic sentime?it necessai^y to turn these 
trifles ijito charming episodes. But my mind has 
not the power, and my imagination is always at 
fault.) 

" But see. Talma, it is just because it is my first 
step that I am very frightened. Thereon, you 
understand, depends my fate. I reason ; so, there, 
I am not such a child as you think. The Consul 
is kind ; yes, 1 grant you ; I am sure of it. But 
he is the First Consul and I am a strolling player I 
He thinks of nothing but glory ; and do you think 
that glory goes with love ? No ; I want some 
one to be in love with me. Should I be happy 
if I come to love the Consul, to be near him only 
when he orders, when it pleases him ! See, Talma, 
it is slavery. Am I right ? " 

" Well, then, get married." 



MEMOIRS 127 

" That's nice advice to give me. I fear slavery, 
and you wish me to marry ! " 

" Well, then, would you like me to tell you. You 
will go this evening to Saint-Cloud. It is your 
destiny ; follow it, therefore. If you don't go, you 
will do something stupid which will be very serious 
for you." 

" That is true. I shall go, because I feel I love 
him. Dine with me, Talma, if you have nothing 
else better. We will speak of him ; you have 
known him so well because you see him so often 
with his wife, the charming Josephine." 

" Yes, I have seen a good deal of him. I will 
tell you about it another time. I can't dine with 
you, my dear friend, to my great regret, because 
my wife is waiting for me." 

" Well, get married ; it is more honest, but 
sometimes very boring ! One marries for love, I 
think so at least. When one is no longer in 
love one must remember what has been. You 
have this recollection. Talma. That is still some- 
thing. One is considerate to one's wife. It is not 
passion, but it is honest." 

" Where did you learn all this ? " 

" In seeing married people. Come, dear Talma, 
be off; it is late. My compliments to madame. 
To-morrow we play Cinna. Do the performances 
continue ? " 

"Just at present." 

" So much the worse, but one must do one's 
duty." 



128 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

At eight o'clock Constant entered the courtyard. 
He had been at three for orders. So here I am 
again tete-a-tete with the kind, jolly servant. The 
conversation during the journey was very laconic, 
especially on my side. It was useless for Constant 
to say, " The Consul is enchanted with you ; he finds 
you charming ; he is expecting you with still greater 
impatience." I remained very silent, saying to 
myself, " Does the Consul talk with his valet ? 
For the matter of that, why not ? I talk a great 
deal with Clementine. The Consul's familiarity 
with his valet is only a distraction, that is all. 
Then he is devoted to him." 

{Alas! time proved the wretch faithless !) 

The Consul was waiting for me. 

" Good-day, Georgina ; are we in a good 
humour ? " 

" Yes ; always for you." 

It was true, he was really charming, his smile 
celestial, his manners so gentle. He attracted and 
fascinated you. 

" Well, Georgina, you told me the truth. The 
little ring which I ground beneath my heel did 
really come from Mile. Raucourt, the other objects 
from your handsome Prince Sapieha. You have 
already, doubtless, told him to stop his visits and 
presents." 

" No ; I tell you frankly that I have not thought 
of it." 

'* Very good ; don't bother about it. He will 
understand, you will see him no more." 



MEMOIRS 129 

I said to myself, " Poor prince, see how well 
you have been recompensed." He had no love for 
me ; his heart will not be broken, but he will have 
the right to think me very ungrateful. However, 
it is not my fault, and I can't blame the Consul — 
he is right. Every man of delicacy would act thus. 
Alas ! will it be for my happiness ? Let us hope 
on and follow the road blindly, wherever it may 
lead. 

The Consul was more tender than the evening 
before, and more pressing. I was anxious and 
quivering. I dare not say my modesty, since I 
had come of my own accord. He loaded me with 
tenderness, but with such delicacy, with such a 
restrained ardour, always respecting the modest 
emotions of a young girl whom he did not wish to 
force, but to lead to him by a sweet and tender 
sentiment without violence. My heart experienced 
an unknown feeling ; it beat with force. I was 
attracted in spite of myself. I loved the great man 
who was surrounding me with such consideration, 
who was not rough in his desires, who waited the 
will of a child and bowed to her caprices. 

" See, Georgina, let me love you altogether ; I 
want you to have complete confidence. It is true 
you scarcely know me, but it needs but a minute 
to love ; one feels all at once the electric movement 
which strikes you at the same time. Tell me, do 
you love me a little ? " 

" Certainly I love you, not only a Uttle ; I am 
afraid of loving you too much, and therefore of 



130 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

being very unhappy. You have too much great- 
ness within you for your heart to nurse a Hvely 
affection for anything but glory. Poor women are 
soon taken and very soon forgotten. For you they 
are a plaything which amuses you a little more or 
a little less. Although you may be the First Consul, 
I do not intend to be a plaything." 

" But if you are my favourite plaything, you 
won't complain, I hope. No mistrust, Georgina ; 
you would annoy me." 

" Very well, I will come again to-morrow." 

" You see how weak I am to allow you to leave 
without having given me a proof of abandonment, 
which leaves us no longer strangers to each other. 
Go, then, Georgina, till to-morrow." 

" Ah I I was forgetting ; 1 am playing Cinna." 

" All the better ; I will be present at the per- 
formance. Look your best. After Cinna the 
carriage will wait for you." 

" But I shall be tired." 

" Come, Georgina, this time I will see you after 
Cinna, and you will yield to my desire, or I will 
never see you again." 

" I will come." 

Great tears were in my eyes. 

" You are crying ; you see quite well that you 
love me a little, you silly little thing ! " 

He dried my great tears, embraced me, and said — 

" Till to-morrow, my dear Georgina." 

As a matter of fact Cinna was played : nothing 
had been changed. At quarter-past seven I came 



MEMOIRS 131 

on the stage, and the Consul had not arrived. 
It is to punish me that he is absent. " Ah, well, 
if he does not come I shall not go to-morrow to 
Saint-Cloud. I am not a slave ; I belong to 
myself. I am my own, my own alone. Heaven be 
thanked. Ah, how well I did to resist ! It was a 
caprice, and nothing more. My dear Consul, you 
see that I have my will too, and that, although only 
a mere girl, I know how not to bow my head 
before power. All the better ; I am free, and breathe 
more freely." But I felt I was choking while 
uttering my monologue. " Uttering " is the word, 
the only word suitable. I was detestable, absurd, 
and the haughty Emilie was very humbled. It is 
extraordinary all that can pass in the head of an 
actress while playing, while she is the character, at 
any rate in appearance ; for other thoughts assail 
you, turning you into a machine ; one exaggerates 
one's part, and sometimes deceives the public. 

At the end of my monologue I heard a noise in 
the house and frantic applause ; it was the Consul. 
Ah ! how I breathed with happiness. There was a 
cry of " Begin again," which always happened when 
the First Consul was late. I began again, but this 
time my heart was filled with joy and intoxication, 
but quite in keeping with my part. The good 
public must have said, " Halloa ! it seems that 
the presence of our great man inspires her more 
than this full house." 

The Consul was very fond of the tragedy of 
Ci?ina. 



132 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

The performance of this work was magnificently 
played by Talma and Monvel ; Monvel was so 
simple and noble as Augustus. Talk of diction ! 
He knew the secret of putting emotion in his 
diction. How that man recited Corneille ! 

Without a powerful voice, and almost without 
voice at all, he could be heard everywhere. Further, 
what an admiring silence when he was on the 
stage. How tragic and simple he was in his mono- 
logue in the fourth act, when, I think, fivandre 
had just acquainted him of Cinna's treachery, and 
how in the monologue he recapitulated all his 
actions and ended by saying — 

" Renlrc en toi-tneme, Octave, el souffre des higrais, 
Aprcs V avoir ete ! " 

Aprcs lavoir ete was said with such indefinable 
feeling. There was in those few words all his 
remorse ; it produced a tragic effect. And again 
in the same monologue, when he awakes, and at 
last wishes to be avenged on the ingrate, he 
philosophises, saying — 

" Eh quoi, toujours du sang el toujours des supplices ! " 

The word ''sang'' was said in a stifled voice, 
with an expression of disgust about the lips. 
He dropped into a chair in a tired, exhausted 
way — 

" Ma cruaide se lasse ! " 

[Dear Valmore, I haven t " Cinna " by me. You 
will have it in your artistic memor^y, and arrange it 



MEMOIRS 138 

as a man of taste who understands beautiful tilings. 
I think it a good idea to insej't these details before 
my third visit to Saint-Cloud.) 

And the scene which opens the fifth act between 
Augustus and Cinna. He entered first, very 
agitated. Cinna follows. Chairs are put ready. 
Monvel took his with a trembling hand. 

" Prends nn siege, Cinna." 

And on Cinna's hesitation he begins again — 

" Prends ..." 

What a prodigious effect ! Ah I I was there, 
palpitating, all ears like the public for that matter. 
Then there are the lines which follow the famous 
Prends — 

" Sur toute chose, 
Observe exactement la loi que je f impose." 

From the beginning of this scene his utterance 
was short, incisive, and even impetuous. When he 
reminded Cinna of the favours with which he had 
loaded him, and said — 

" Cinna, tu t'en souviens, et veux massassiner." 

Cinna, who then wishes to get up, was restrained 
by Monvel — 

" Tti tiens mal la parole. Sieds loi." 

It is impossible to render the effect. When he 
named all the conspirators he counted them on his 
fingers, those magical fingers from which a flame 



134 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

issued from every joint ; to count on the fingers 
without exciting laughter, but on the contrary to 
make everybody shudder, is pushing art beyond 
all imagination. Then when, after having shown 
Cinna all his baseness and ingratitude, he finished 
that exquisite dialogue by saying — 

"Parle, pa?le, il est temps," — 

I do not think it is possible for any other actor 
to reach a like perfection, so true and intelli- 
gent, and all without a cry or an exaggeration. 
Ah ! sublime Monvel, your reputation is much 
beneath your immense talent. Shall injustice 
always rule ? 

Talma, in this pusillanimous and wavering char- 
acter, now brave now weak, moved under the 
influence of his passion for Emilie, and acted 
against the promptings of his heart. 

What a fine first entry Talma had ! All the 
beautiful and lengthy recital was made in a low 
voice, and when he reached these lines — 

" Le frere tout degoutta?it du meuire de son pere, 
Et, sa tete a la main, demandant son salaire," — 

what an expression ! He trembled in every fibre ! 
He stretched forward his right hand, which actually 
held a head, then bringing the other hand almost 
beneath the bleeding head, demanded his reward. 
There was an effect so terribly true that I have 
often seen women shrink with fright. 

That, 1 think, is talent ; but those who have not 



MEMOIRS 135 

seen it will not believe so. They are right ; they 
have not seen it and they will not. To-day the old 
traditions are turned into ridicule, and no one 
attempts the impossible. How is one to talk 
colour to a blind man? 

Tragedies were not then surrounded with elabo- 
rate scenery. They were even gloomy and neglected. 
People were wrong. The fault was certainly not 
Talma's, as he appreciated and understood classicism 
better than any one. How many times I have seen 
him in righteous wrath against this bad taste and 
stinginess. " You make us look like fools with 
your paltry meanness ! " Poor Talma, he was so 
much in love with classicism that he wanted to 
re-establish the chorus in CEdipus. " Music elevates 
the soul and poetises it ; but to speak of it to those 
dunderheads is trouble lost." 

" See," he said to me, " how they are encrusted 
in their old habits. They think I am introducing 
a red cap when I speak of innovations so necessary 
to our art." 

But if the 7nise en scene was neglected in such a 
mean way, the distribution of works was not. 

Dalmas was a brilliant actor, who met with great 
applause, caused by an intrepid warmth, which 
astonished and attracted a public carried away by 
so much volubility, asking itself afterwards, " AVhy 
did I applaud so much ? I do not know why, 
but it is a fact I did not applaud Talma when he 
said in such a simple and touching manner — 

" 'C'esi Oreste, ma sueur . . .' 



136 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

I had tears in my eyes, and yet I did not applaud. 
Do I like the drum better than the nightingale ? 
lleally I am a brute." 

Dalmas was not without talent, but — I repeat it 
with regret — it was a careless talent. However, 
he kept to his part of jeime pi'emie?^ and did not 
disdain to play Maxime, a part of small effect, 
almost completely effaced by Cinna and Augustus. 
The secondary characters, although it must be 
confessed they were very mediocre in those times, 
would not have dared to get themselves replaced. 
The works in this respect were mounted as well 
as possible. 

This evening — and the presence of the Consul 
had much to do with it — the effect of the perform- 
ance was magnificent. I do not speak of myself. 
In the midst of the marvellous and immense talent 
of those giants, I did my best not to cast a shadow 
on the picture. So I had the flattering reward 
of my efforts. But applause came to me at the 
fifth act, which I was far from expecting, at the 
line — 

" Sijai sed2iit Cinna, fen seduirai Men d' mitres." 

This line was applauded three times. I became 
purple. Heavens ! what did it all mean ? Something 
is presumed ! They can't know anything. The 
First Consul comes very often, and perhaps they 
think . . . That would be awful ! Are Court secrets 
to be like stage ones ? What will the Consul 
say to me ? He will be furious, and perhaps will 



MEMOIRS 137 

accuse me of indiscretion, although I have confided 
in no one but Tahna. He is too prudent and timid 
to have opened his mouth about it, even to his wife. 

Tahna followed me into my box quite disturbed. 

" Well, you see ! Did you hear the applause ? " 

"Yes, and I am confused and disturbed by it. 
If only the Consul does not accuse me of indiscre- 
tion ! After all, I don't care much ; the public 
perhaps wanted to pay me a gracious compliment. 
Be off with you, Talma ; I am waited for." 

I got into the carriage, and here I am for the 
third time on the way to Saint-Cloud. The Consul 
was waiting for me. 

" The performance was very good," he said. 
" Talma was truly sublime. Monvel is quite a 
profound actor ; unfortunately nature has been 
grudging to him. It is impossible to have a 
great reputation with such a defective voice and 
miserable figure. The stage is ideality, and one 
does not want to see badly-made heroes. Monvel 
combats his defects by science, but the charm is 
absent. He is an actor to study. You were very 
good, too, Georgina." 

" I did my best to deserve your approval, which 
is most flattering to me," 

"Eh, what ! Are you going to play the flatterer ? " 

" I am trying to become a great lady." 

" You are trying to become naughty. Be what 
you are, I like you better as Georgina than a 
countess." 

He overwhelmed me with kindness. 



138 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" Come and sit beside me. You are a little 
fatigued. Come, rid yourself of the shawl and the 
hat, that you may be seen." 

He undressed me little by little. He acted the 
lady's-maid with such gaiety, with such grace and 
decency, that one had to yield in spite of oneself 
How could one not be fascinated and attracted to 
such a man ? He became small and childish to 
please me. He was no longer the Consul ; he was, 
perhaps, a man in love, but whose love had neither 
violence nor roughness. He embraced you sweetly, 
and his words were tender and modest. Beside 
him it was impossible not to experience what he 
experienced himself 

I separated from the Consul at seven in the 
morning ; but ashamed of the charming disorder 
the night had caused, I quite showed my em- 
barrassment. 

" Let me make it tidy." 

" Yes, my good Georgina, I will even help you." 

And he had the kindness to pretend to arrange 
the couch with me, that witness of so much 
forgetfulness and tenderness. 

{OuJ'f Really, good Madame Valmoi^e, it wants 
a pen like yours to marshal these histo?ical and still 
very ti'ue details. I have done what I can, hut 1 
am powerless.) 

The Consul said to me, " Good-bye till to- 
morrow, Georgina." He said to-morrow doubtless 
to calm my uneasiness — another proof of his 
delicacy. No, those wlio will read xhese details 



MEMOIRS 189 

will never believe them ; but they are real. To 
know the great man thoroughly it was necessary 
to see him in intimacy ; there, despoiled of his 
immense thouglits, he pleased himselF witli all the 
little details of simple and human life ; he rested 
from fatigue and himself. 

" No, not to-morrow, if you permit, but the day 
after to-morrow." 

" Yes, my dear Georgina, just as you wish ; the 
day after to-morrow. Love me a little, and tell 
me that you will come gladly." 

" I love you with all my soul ; I am afraid of 
loving you too much. You are not made for me, 
I know, and I shall suffer ; that is written — you will 

" Bah ! you prophesy badly ; I shall always be 
good to you. I5ut we haven't got as far as that. 
Kiss me and be happy." 

Here I am launched into a lively existence, sweet 
for the moment, but which will cause me plenty of 
grief. I shall be always in doubt, and perhaps 
jealous. Jealous of a man whom you can only see 
when he consents ! Yes, one is envied the honour 
— one calls that honour ! — of being noticed by the 
Consul I It is grand ! It is splendid I But at 
bottom it is sad. It would be much better to be 
loved by one's equal ; one can agree and dispute at 
one's ease, and there is no imperial door to forbid 
one the entry without the order of the master. 
Yes, it is sad, it is heartrending ; it is slavery 
with golden chains. After the third and delinite 



140 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

interview was over — " Come the day after to- 
morrow." It is gilded slavery. 

Here I am in a new era. Keceive my farewells 
young girl, without cares, without any other 
passion but theatrical glory ; you return a woman 
to the home which only last evening heard your 
peals of childish laughter. You return with a 
heart in love ; prepare yourself, then, for all the 
torments of that feeling we call love, which nearly 
always is the tomb of all our illusions and all our 
dreams. 

I returned home sad ; I felt I loved the Consul. 
He sent Constant for news of me, and to remind 
me of my promise for the morrow. I did not go 
out that day ; my door was closed to everybody 
except my ftiithful Talma, who did not fail to come 
post-haste. 

" Well, did he talk to you about tlie frightful 
applause at the line— 

"'Sij'ai st'dmt China, fen scduirai Men d'antres' ? " 

" He never said a word to me about it ; but he 
thought you sublime, my dear Talma. How well 
the Consul talks about tragedy ! What good 
advice he gives. He considers you a tragedian 
from head to foot. As for me, I don't understand 
it like he does ; but this I can say, that during your 
speech in the first act I have shivers which run 
down all my limbs, and if the public were not 
entirely under the influence of your accents and 
could turn its eyes away, it would see me grow 



MEMOIRS 141 

pale, and would read in my face the profound 
impression you were producing on me." 

" You are giving me a great eulogy." 

" My Talma, that is what I feel when I listen to 
you. I am no more in the theatre, I assure you ; 
you transport me to Rome." 

"You ought to be happy after what you have 
just told me ; one doesn't have for a woman for whom 
one only experiences a fancy, all the tender and 
delicate care and the patience he had. He spoils 
you ; you will find no one like him." 

" I only know too well. Talma, that I love him, 
and you see that is very disturbing." 

" When do you see him again ? " 

" To-morrow. He wanted to see me to-day, but 
at my prayer ..." 

" What a lot of women would like to be in your 
place. Be discreet, I beg you ; let there not be the 
least reproach made against you. The Consul likes 
decency in everything. It will be known, perhaps 
it is already known ; I believe so, but it is not 
through you." 

Talma had a very prying glance ; I saw him look 
at me. 

" What have you got in your ears ? " 

" Ah ! I forgot. They are two diamond earrings 
which the Consul placed in my cars two days ago, 
the day after my first interview. ' Take them, my 
dear Georgina ; I have crushed everything of yours : 
it is right I should replace all the damage I have 
done.' " 



142 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

*' But those gems are superb." 

" Certainly they are magnificent, but the manner 
in which they were given was finer still. Another 
would have had the bad taste to send them to 
me ; but he — that is another matter. How can 
one help him ? Decidedly, Talma, I am mad 
over him." 

" You do well : I even think it reasonable. Come 
this evening to the theatre." 

" I am not keen about it." 

"Why?" 

"Because I am very pale." 

" You never have any colour, you flirt. You 
know quite well that pallor suits you. You are 
just as usual. Come, we will talk about him. 
Ah ! I love him too, you see." 

So I went to the Francais. Talma had not 
yet arrived. I went down into the theatre. We 
had a green-room there where we kept the 
materials for our make-up, our pins, and glass 
of water. There were several comfortable chairs 
round the room, and there the women sat and 
quizzed each other unsparingly. When one quitted 
her place to go on the stage another filled it quickly. 
Mars was playing that day in le Philosophe sans le 
Savoir, She was certainly the most ravishing figure 
one could possibly see ; she looked fifteen in her 
little white dress and green apron. She was ad- 
mirable in Victoirine, from beginning to end 
displaying an ingenuity and dramatic style which 
would put present dramas in the shade. Her 



MEMOIRS 143 

triumphs were equal to her talents, so her charming 
companions had some difficulty in discovering a 
defect ; unable to criticise her talent, they already 
dared to speak about her age. 

" Ah, will she never leave off her green apron ? " 
said Bourgoin. " I shall never be able to come up to 
her. You will see she will play little girls till she 
is sixty. As for me, I shall be at the hospital for 
incurables." 

Mile. Contat — Contat, the witty and great lady, 
who did not disdain to play the aunt, and made 
a complete role from the little part screamingly 
funny — was listening to Bourgoin. The good 
Contat had a mischievous wit. She had no very 
tender affection for Mile. Mars, but was too perfect 
a comedienne not to do her justice. 

" You would do well, little one, to go into the 
house to study closely, and take a lesson which 
might, perhaps, be useful to you. Try to imitate 
JNIars ; imitate, I say, because you could never, 
never replace her. You will put yourself in her 
place, and you will do so to a disadvantage. Her 
proper and distinguished manners belong to her 
alone, and you could not take them away. Appre- 
ciate her parts ; that is permitted to you. But to 
play them, little one ! — ah, renounce that folly ! 
Neither you nor the others will ever replace Mars 
in cleverness." 

After this little dialogue Mile. Contat went on 
the stage. 

" Dear me, how rude the fat creature is ! All 



144 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

those old things hold their heads up. When I am 
as old as you, you rude old thing, I shall have as 
much talent as you, see ! If her dear INIars wanted 
to play her part, the old stroller wouldn't think her 
so wonderful. That person is thoroughly spoiled ; 
she has so often been told that she has grand 
manners, that she fancies herself JNIme. de Pompa- 
dour. I must go, because it will be my scene. 

" ' Achille, noble ^Is de vingt rois. Viens avec ta mereJ " 

(All this, dear, is stupid and doubtless in bad taste ; 
but I heard it all. Do what you like with it. 
Besides, it is the second of January, and I am in a 
very bad temper.) 

Everybody laughed. 

" Why didn't you answer her ? " said Mere 
Thenard.^ " You hung back. You ought to have 
told her what you thought of her." 

" That's all very well, but I should have been 
fined." 

" True, but you would have had your consola- 
tion." 

" I should have had to pay a hundred francs ; 
thanks, it is too dear. Believe me, I shall be even 
with her yet without a fine. Ah, there's George, 

1 Thenard, mere (Marie-Magdeluine-Claudine Chevalier-Perrin), 
born at Voiron in Daupliine, December 11, 1757; made her 
debut, October I, 1777; had a fresh debut. May 26, 1781; 
received the first of June following ; reunion generale, May 30, 
1799; retired, April 1, 1819; died in Paris, December 20, 1849 
(Georges Monval, etc.). 



MEMOIRS 145 

who is new here ; she says nothing. I suppose you 
are afraid of the fat creature, George ? " 

" I afraid ? Not at all ; but I like and admire 
Mile. Mars, so I could not agree with what you 
said. I held my tongue ; it seemed to be the best 
thing to do. Besides, I don't care for arguments." 

"Dear me, here's some one who is already 
becoming politic ! " 

The poor Bourgoin was wrong to call me a 
politic. I understood very imperfectly what was 
passing around me. I was far away from the little 
green-room, where all the annoyances of the wings 
and little feminine jealousies went on. I was 
waiting for Talma. Mars, on leaving the stage, 
came and sat right opposite me. 

" Good-evening, George ; how are you ? " 

" Very well, thanks ; and how are you ? " 

" I ? Just so-so. I am not much in form, and 
should be glad to be finished. Heavens ! George, 
the brilliant rays your ears throw out hurt my 
eyes." 

" My ears hurt you ? You are joking." 

"Not your ears, but your diamond earrings." 

" Ah ! " 

I put my hand to my ears ; I had forgotten to 
remove them. I was troubled ; I felt that hints 
and gossip were proceeding apace. 

" Take them out and let me look at them 
closer." 

" I can't take them out ; you see them well 
enough. Diamond earrings are not very curious." 



146 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

*' But those are so enormous ; you are wearing a 
king's ransom in your ears." 

" Neither king nor ransom. Some diamonds 
were brought to me, and I Hked them, and I was 
given time to pay for them. That is all ! You 
would have done the same. You like nice things 
when you can get them. Besides, everybody likes 
them, and women especially." 

" Yes, yes, my dear George ; but you will want a 
great deal of time to pay for those enormous gems." 

" Don't bother yourself about it. I swear I 
won't charge you with the payment of the debt, 
which perhaps you would undertake with pleasure. 
You are such a good comrade ! " 

{Good Valmore, this little scene passed as I tell it. 
I gave 3Iars a little rap, but we have painted her 
so favoui^ahly that it is not necessary to keep silence 
about this anecdote.) 

Mars had guessed everything. What was to be 
done ? After all, rumours are to be expected. I 
can do nothing, let come what may. Such a fearful 
position would be intolerable. 

" Ah ! Talma, here you are at last. Come, let 
us get away as quickly as possible from all this 
envious gossip." 

" What's the matter, then ? " says Talma, taking 
my arm. 

" What's the matter ? The matter is, your 
sharp Mars discovered beneath my hat the gems 
which I had thoughtlessly left in my ears, and for 
half-an-hour she placed me on the rack to learn 



MEMOIRS 147 

where such a magnificent present could come 
from." 

" Well, what do you expect ? You ought to 
understand that secrecy is impossible." 

" You must see, Talma, that I was right to 
dread this happiness. It is happiness to think 
that one is loved by this man, but it is a happiness 
which will always be troubled. I give myself no 
illusions, good Talma ; it is a lost and tortuous 
existence. Once separated from the Consul, 
nothing and nobody will please me. He is the 
First Consul, but to me he is nothing more 
than a man, charming with his grace and his 
thousand little attentions, which try to make you 
forget his power and render you completely happy. 
How can one help being proud and sad when one 
thinks that everything ends ? I am going home. 
My carriage is here ; take me to it. You will have 
a cup of tea, and the carriage shall take you home." 

"Gladly." 

Dear Talma, he was really good-natured ; besides, 
he knew quite well that I should not miss the 
chance of talking of him. 

" Do you know that women are very spiteftil ? 
You men have none of these miserable petty jeal- 
ousies. A new jewel brings all of them to their 
feet. They devour you with their eyes. They 
scrutinise right down into your heart, to try and 
guess what is passing there. It is really a toil 
which I think I shall never be able to stoop to. 
What does it matter to me, if they have beautiful 



148 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

things ? All the better for the envious creatures. 
No, dear Talma, I don't think this vice will come 
to me." 

"You will speak differently, perhaps, later on, 
when you are no longer young." 

" No. When I am no longer young, I shall 
love youth, and I shall like to rest my eyes on beauti- 
ful people. They will pass, like me, those young 
girls so fresh and rosy ; they will resign themselves, 
like me, to becoming old and even ugly. They 
will hear people tell them, ' Ah I you were very, 
very beautiful.' You were is frightful. That 
shameless compliment should be erasedc Now-a- 
days I often hear that compliment, and, as beauty 
is rather rare, I reply, ' You are fortunate, my 
dear ; you have never had that to regret. That 
is a consolation.' " 

The next day I saw the Consul, who received 
me with the same eagerness and kindness. He 
liked me to tell him all that had been said of me, 
and all the little intrigues of behind the scenes. 

" Come, Georgina, tell me everything." 

" Well, yesterday I was very tormented by 
Mile. Mars. I had your gems in my ears, and 
curiosity and questions were not lacking. I fear 
they guess where they come from, but I assure you 
I am very discreet." 

" Never mind ; let them talk, let them suppose ; 
1 shall not blame you for it. Always be good- 
natured, dear Georgina, that is the best quality a 
woman can have." 



MEMOIRS 149 

The Emperor has been given a reputation for 
rudeness. It is a calumny joined to so many others, 
and to so many hes, that shoulders will be shrugged, 
and, as they read these memoirs, people will say, 
" Bah, this is all incredible ; she embellishes ! " 
Believe it or not, dear readers, as you like. I speak 
the truths the very truth. I do not embellish or 
invent at all. I say that the Emperor was, to me 
at least, gentle and gay, and even childish. The 
hours with him passed without our heeding, and 
day came to astonish us. 

On leaving I longed to return. And I did not 
have long to wait. The days seemed mortally long. 
Everybody knew what I was so desirous of hiding. 
I received people who came to recommend them- 
selves to me. 

" I am unable to do what you desire ; I know no 
Minister and have no influence." 

"If you would only see the Minister of the 
Interior, you would obtain what I solicit. I should 
be grateful." 

" What do you mean ? " 

" In offering you what you might like." 

" I want nothing. See, your proposition dis- 
pleases me, and decides me to see the Minister. I 
will try and obtain what you want, and you will 
see if I sell the services I should be happy to 
give. We artistes have not, thank God, venal 
souls." 

I was received by the Minister, who promised to 
examine the request I presented to him. 



150 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" Here is a card which will allow you to present 
yourself without asking for an audience." 

I left, charmed by such a gracious reception. 
Was I received so kindly on my own account, or 
because of the rumours which were running about ? 
It doesn't matter. Let us turn it to account by doing 
a little good, if it is possible. When one has been 
poor, one must not forget or repel those whom one 
can succour. There are so many people who make 
fabulous fortunes and forget their origin, because 
they possess laughable luxury ; yes, really laugh- 
able ; in spite of their liveries, one soon recognises 
their transformation. You may strut or smirk as 
you like in your carriages, which you want to rival 
those of the Court, you will always be recognised. 
You are disguised, that is all. You are foolishly 
proud; money troubles you, poor people; but 
money will not give you the distinction you are 
running after. Away with this stupid pretension, 
You are intelligent men, men of money ; remain 
men of money. Look after it well, for if you 
should lose it, you will know your true merit. 

If the rumours day by day took more consist- 
ency, it was, it must be said, partly the Consul's 
fault. It was well known that the performance 
preferred by the Consul was tragedy ; the severe 
style pleased him. He would not have let the 
masterpieces be placed on one side, which now are 
a little too despised. Alas ! they are right ; who 
could play them ? Doubtless he came too often, 
which gave rise to all the rumours. Great men 



MEMOIRS 151 

have their weaknesses, too, but one does not wish 
them to have them. People get angry and always 
will with those who govern. The world is made so, 
and will continue so. It is just like the actors, who 
are ceaselessly enemies of their manager. Power is 
a difficult and hard thing to control. 

One day the Consul said to me — 

" Georgina, if you like, Constant will come and 
fetch you at* nine in the morning ; then we will 
go together to Butard, a hunting-place a little way 
from Saint-Cloud." 

" That is pretty early." 

'* Lazybones ! You will get up a little sooner 
which will be good for you. Then at last I shall 
see you in the beautiful sunshine." 

" Yes, at the beginning of October there is very 
little sun." 

" There will be on that day." 

" Very well, I will come, since you promise me 
the sun." 

During the first fortnight he had satisfied my 
scrupulous delicacy, and I dare say my modesty, in 
repairing the disorder of the nights and pretending 
to re-make the bed. He dressed me, and put on my 
stockings, and as I had garters with buckles, which 
made him impatient, he had some round garters 
made for me, to be passed over the foot. 

{I give you these details crudely, because you told 
me to put everything on paper, dear good Madame 
Valmore. I obey. How will you select from it ? 
You only are capable of making such thorny details 



152 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

jxiss. For instance, could you say that the Empei'oi-'s 
sleep was as calm as a child's, and his breathing 
soft ; that his awalxening was charming, with a sweet 
smile on his lips; that he rested his noble and 
handsome head on my bosom, and nearly always slept 
so, and that I, young as I was, made some almost 
philosophical reflections on seeing the man who 
commanded the world thus abandon himself com- 
pletely in the arms of a young girl. Oh ! he knew 
quite well that I would let myself be killed for 
him. 

All these details are for you, dear Valmoi^e: I 
should be confused ij your dear son were to read 
them. The Emperor's love was sweet. There was 
nothing shameless in the most intimate moments, and 
no obscene words. He made charming remarks : " Z>o 
you love me, Georgina ? Are you happy to be in my 
arms? lam going to sleep, too." All this is true; 
but how is it to be told ? You have the secret of 
making people understand delicately ; as for me, 
I am nothing but a brute, more particularly still 
when I am mastered by the cdjsence of money, which 
happens to me very often, and, above all, at this 
moment, xvhen I am raging against those who have it 
and keep it.) 

I was fetched away, then, at nine o'clock m the 
morning. It was fine, but cold. I put on a white 
silk quilted wrap, such as was in fashion at the 
time, and black satin shoes : boots were unknown, 
which was a pity, for they are both pretty and 
useful ; then I threw over my head a long veil. 



MEMOIRS 153 

Was I going to be foolish enough to go out 
without a hat in the month of October ? 

" But, mademoiselle," said Clementine to me, 
" do put on a hat. Here is one that suits you very 
well." 

" Do you think so ? I think I look like a 
marchioness with her Sunday clothes on. I don't 
care about it. Besides, the Consul wants to see me 
in the sunlight. Well, he shall see me : I will 
disguise none of my face." 

Here we are at Saint-Cloud. The carriage was 
stopped behind the wall which overlooks Sevres. 
Constant got down and returned more than a 
quarter of an hour afterwards to tell me — 

" I made a mistake. The Consul was furious 
with me and said, ' Idiot, I have been waiting for 
an hour.' The Consul had a gun to make it be 
beUeved he was going shooting. ' Go and wait 
for me at Butard. I will return to change, and 
shall be there as soon as you. Only I won't take 
the road with her, silly idiot that you are.'" 

{TJiis was told me word for xvord by Constant.) 

As a matter of fact I arrived first, and entered 
a pavilion in the midst of a garden more or less full 
of little trees. First I found a good fire, and 
then lunch ready spread. The Consul arrived ten 
minutes afterwards on horseback, followed by 
four aides-de-camp : General Caulaincourt, Junot, 
Bessieres, and Lauriston, who has often talked to 
me about that morning. 

[It is for yon,, good Valmore, to find out if 



154 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Lauriston was there at that time. Could Laitris- 
ton have lied ? I dont think so. Of Junot and 
Caulaincourt, as well as Bessicres, I am certain^ 
hut I am not so sure about him.) 

The Consul entered alone, and said to me — 

" Well ! you understand about that silly thing 
Constant mistaking the place I had fixed upon, and 
kept me waiting an hour with gun in hand. That's 
the reason why I did not accompany you." 

" Oh, don't scold him, I beg of you. Poor 
Constant is so confused and unhappy : pardon him. 
Warm yourself: you must be tired." 

" Not at all : we came at a good gallop." 

" Take something." 

He rang for Constant, who entered with lowered 
head and a very red face. 

*' Some coffee, and, Georgina, won't you take 
something ? " 

" A httle coffee, too, if you please." 

" Is that all ? " 

" Yes, that is all." 

" At last I see you in daylight ; it is not un- 
favourable to you." 

" You are very good to think so, but I think 
I am horribly ugly." 

" Come, come : no false modesty. You know 
quite differently. Ah ! my dear, there are so 
many women who deceive you by candlelight: 
and you theatrical people with your rouge are 
practically masked. But to rise at nine and drive 
three leagues in the country is an ordeal, and 



MEMOIRS 155 

you have sustained it victoriously. You are just as 
I desired to see you." 

" You look at me with indulgent eyes : I am 
very grateful to you, and thank you again." 
" Come, let us take a little walk in the wood." 
He gave me his arm, and we passed before the 
four aides-de-camp drawn up in a line in the 
courtyard, with lowered helmets. The Consul 
raised my veil, which caused me to lower my 
head, because I was so flushed and confused. 
Perhaps any one else would have been proud. It is 
possible— and there was something to be proud 
about— but I, whether it was modesty, or lack 
of intelligence, or of boldness, was trembling and 
ashamed. All this happened as I am relating. 
I walked arm-in-arm with the first man in the 
world. Yes, amour propre ought to be satis- 
fied, and it was. How many times in the midst 
of my tribulations and disappointments I recalled 
that walk. It is all the same— they can't take away 
that ; I have been for more than two hours arm- 
in-arm with the master of the world. I have no 
fortune, and am poor, but rich in recollections; 
and no speculation can rob you of them and no 
power can take them away. They are there before 
me as fresh, and as young and palpitating as 
if it was yesterday. In the midst of so much 
suffering I consider myself happy to have preserved 
my young impressions. One ages less quickly. 
If I have trodden money beneath my feet, as 
much as people say, it was because I have always 



150 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

despised it. I despise it still more now that it 
has become a matter of such importance. Yes, 
Mister Money, I despise yon. Think what you 
like about that, it is of little consequence to 
me. I tell you. Money, my opinion : I owe 
you no obligation. I am free and upright before 
you. Don't expect me ever to bow before your 
ingots. 

The dear Consul ! How charming and gay he 
was during that walk ! He made me run, as it 
was cold. The paths were covered with dead 
leaves and dry branches, which got in my way 
and caught in my feet. The Consul took care 
to clear them away and give me a freer passage. 
He gave himself that trouble ! 

"Please don't stoop so ; I don't want you to, or 
else I shall go in." 

" I don't want you to hurt your feet. Let me 
do it." 

{This is kistorical.) 

These details are true. Would any one believe 
them ? There are so few men capable of these 
delicate attentions. Oh ! yes, I have never met his 
equal. Besides, in another it would seem simple 
and natural. But in Jdm ! ah, that is quite another 
thing ! 

" I want to return. I am tired, and, in spite of 
our race, a little cold." 

So we returned. 

" You must have some tea to warm you before 
leaving." 



MEMOIRS 157 

We remained another Kbur together, then the 
carriage was ordered. The Consul accompanied 
me to it and saw me in. 

" We will meet soon, Georgina, at the Tuileries, 
I am leaving Saint-Cloud to-morrow." 

He mounted his horse and passed us quickly, 
just coming to the door to say once more to me, 
''A bie?it6t" 

{On that day an individual who had received 
orders to attack the Einperor was arrested. I rely 
on my dear Valmore to look up the details of this 
incident.) 

Constant left me at Saint-Cloud, and I returned 
home about six. My life in the midst of all this 
grandeur was not what I had imagined it. Yes, 
certainly I am happy when I am with the Consul, 
but will my illusion let me go as far as flattering 
myself that it will last ? Every moment there is 
uncertainty. I live under a will which will crush 
me as soon as satiety comes, and I shall have no 
right to complain. Well, let us live this frivolous 
life, since I consented to do it. I am subjected to 
the chances of happiness or unhappiness. Forward, 
then, and let us learn not to stray too much : that 
is all I can hope for myself. I am an actress and 
independent. I could, if I liked, give up seeing 
the Consul, and say to him, " I don't wish to 
come." I have my will also, and he would 
have no right to constrain it. I am free ! This 
thought makes me happy, and I see everything 
under another aspect. Now 1 feel happy ; if I 



158 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

go on it is because 1 wish to, because I like 
to. 

I saw very few people and made few visits. 
When I went out there was always a wretched cab 
behind my carriage, and when I thought it had 
stopped following me, it still kept on. I amused 
myself in letting it run smartly : it used to make 
such comical halts. 

M. de Talleyrand, whom I saw a good deal, and 
who was very fond of me — how these great and 
witty personages, bored with their gi-andeur, amuse 
themselves with everything and interest themselves 
in nothing, and how they take you up and drop 
you without thinking of you ; you serve as a 
plaything to them without your knowing it — kept 
on tormenting me to consent to hold a reception 
twice a week. 

" Whom shall I receive then ? " I said to him, 
" Your company, prince among men ? What an 
honour to have said, ' Are you going to George's 
this evening ? There is a good company of men 
there!' No, my dear prince, I am very grateful for 
the honour you wish to do me, but, let me tell you, 
I find it a humiliating honour. I am an artiste, 
and I want to live in my own world. You laugh, 
prince ? Yes, my world. I think, and always have 
thought, this pretension to receptions very ridiculous, 
because it is written the ladies of high society cannot 
call on actresses — and in that I approve ; let each 
keep to her own — and let actresses have sufficient 
self-respect to remain in their own sphere ! 



MEMOIRS 159 

" Let them live among artistes and men of letters 
who do not despise them, but, on the contrary, search 
them out. You know, prince, that artistic society is 
much more lively and instructive — I do not say 
that for you, who are a prodigy of knowledge and 
wit — and you know quite well that this world suits 
us. The praises of Gerard, who has much wit, too ; 
of Talma, who certainly has genius as well ; of our 
great painter, David ; of Contat, the marvellous 
actress ; of Mars, Fleury, Monvel ; their praises are 
more precious than the courtly compliments of 
great lords. In speaking of all these artistes, you see 
I become animated and am not so much of a stupid. 
In the midst of your society I should not find a 
word to say. You see quite well I am right to refuse 
you. You approve, I can see, and I am grateful 
to you for it. Besides, society composed of men is 
not amusing, and if some lady artistes were to be 
admitted to your exclusively masculine circle, what 
would be said ? I leave you to imagine. In fact, 
that might indeed compromise you. At last you 
laugh heartily ; you bear me no rancour. I will 
come and see you whenever you allow it ; that will 
always be an honour and a pleasure to me. If you 
deign to honour me with a visit, I shall then be 
proud of it." 

" Yes ; I will come. I am glad to have heard 
you speak thus ; it does you credit. Yes, my 
beautiful Georgina, I will come and see you ; 
count on it." 

" Come with the good Giamboni, he is a friend 



160 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

of yours. He often visits me, and every evening he 
is behind the scenes." 

{All this is ti'ue.) 

Next day I told the Emperor everything, and he 
approved. 

" That devil, Talleyrand, what is he interfering 
for ? He wants everybody to limp like himself ; he 
loves to upset all simple and quiet existences. He 
is a jobber, my dear Georgina. You were right, I 
should have scolded you if you had consented to 
entertain." 

" Yes, I was right, was I not ? I should have 
been there to serve the refreshments, and I am not 
sufficiently complaisant to hand cups of tea. Be- 
sides, 1 would never consent to the least thing 
without telling you, because you are so kind and 
indulgent as to let me tell you everything. What 
happens to me is very insignificant, but some- 
times all these nothings can distract you, and I am 
very happy when I see you smile. You laugh so 
well that you make me forget that it is you. It is 
charming to put oneself on a level with an ordinary 
person. It is a transformation which ought to 
make your life lighter for some minutes." 

{Dear friend, I think a lot of these trifling 
remarks and of this conversation which took place 
between the Consul and me.) 

When great men wish to make themselves 
amiable, one has to confess that they succeed 
better than the average individual, and so they 
spoil one for the future. It is egotism, I am 



MEMOIRS 161 

tempted to believe, intended to force you to 
regrets ; comparison will always leave a recollec- 
tion, and that will happen to me. And self-love, 
whoever be the man, whatever be his rank, 
dominates him before everything else. 

The Consul was kindness itself to me, and 
often condescended to speak about the manner in 
which I had played, and his criticisms were always 
perfect. 

" Georgina, I don't find you sufficiently in love 
in Amenaide. I know quite well that Voltaire 
made the person a little too much of a virago, but 
still she is passionate and almost madly in love, 
and I consider you a little cold." 

" Well, I assure you I do all I can. But what 
can you expect ? I don't feel myself at ease as 
I do in my maternal roles." 

" Yes, you seem to feel maternity most pro- 
foundly. Well, my dear Georgina, you must 
become a mother." 

" If that could be, how happy I should be. How 
nice my little one would be. What beautiful 
dresses and pretty httle bonnets he would have. 
Oh, stop ! I mustn't think about it. I should 
become mad with joy." 

Alas ! I was wrong to give myself up to a 
thought which did not engross me only, for I 
remember having been sent by him, who desired to 
see this wish accomplished, to a woman who lived 
in the faubourg Saint- Antoine, who showed the 
way to become a mother. An unfruitful way 



162 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

for me, alas ! What an existence was promised 
me if I had not been smitten with barrenness ! 

One evening the Emperor summoned me to 
Saint-Cloud very early. It was rather cold, and 
there was a fire in the library, where he received 
me. I ought to remember that fire ! The Consul 
began to play with me just like a real child. 
We sat down on the carpet. Then he climbed 
the small ladder to be found in libraries. He 
wanted to take Phcdre and make me read her 
declaration, which bored me horribly, so much so 
that every time he was just going to take the 
book, I wheeled the ladder into the middle of 
the library. He laughed and climbed down, and 
gave me some little smacks on the cheek, a very 
tenderly made correction. 

(/ do not know, dear friends, if I have ever told 
you these simple details, which do not become less 
charming on the part of that immense man.) 

" Decidedly you don't want to recite Phedre for 
me ? " 

" No, I am not inclined to. Let us talk, please ; 
I like that better." 

*' Very well, feather-brain." 

We sat down again on the carpet. 

" Well, dear Georgina, I am going to leave you. 
I set out at four o'clock in the morning." 

" What, you are leaving ? " 

" Yes, for several days. You see what confidence 
I have in you, madcap ; nobody knows of it. Well, 
you don't seem very afflicted at my departure." 



MEMOIRS 163 

Really, I felt he was right. I would have given 
anything to squeeze a tear, but 1 have never been 
lachrymose. Besides, it is better to be frank, I 
really did not want to cry. Ah ! I can never 
efface from my memory or my heart the Consul's 
gesture, as he placed his hand on my heart and 
drew it back quickly. 

" Ah ! there is nothing for me in that heart." 

I was in torture. I turned my head to the fire 
and said not a word ; my eyes were fixed stupidly 
on the blazing fire and the fire-irons, which shone 
like the sun. At last my staring eyes, doubtless 
fatigued with the glare, grew moist, and squeezed 
out some helpful tears. The Consul saw them, 
and his charm equalled my confusion. He began 
to drink them and kiss them away in his delight. 
I left him in the error. It was very, very 
wrong, I confess, but he was so joyful that 
it would have been cruel to disabuse him. Be- 
sides, I loved him, so I did not deceive him 
really. 

{Arrange all that, dear, but what I write is so 
clear to me still that it seems to have happened 
yesterday. May 27, 1857.) 

The Consul, always kind and considerate, said to 
me, " I don't want my Georgina to be without 
money in my absence," and he filled my lap with 
bank-notes. 

( Valrnore, look up the date he set out for the 
camp at Boulogne. It is vei^y essential to see to the 
dates to prove the truth of this tale. I have 



164 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

already told you : '' The Emperor never sent money 
by anybody, he alwaijs gave it himself.'') 

We took leave of each other at three m the 
morning. I was very moved when he said to me— 

"Good-bye, Georgina, be good, and we will 

meet soon." 

How strange it was. I hadn't wept at all before 
him, but once in the carriage I burst into tears. 
It was quite useless for Constant, the kind and 
ungrateful Constant, to say— 

" Don't cry ; it is only an absence of a few days. 
I will tell the Consul how unreasonable you were, 
and that you did nothing but cry all the way." 

" Yes, tell him that, Constant, so that he may 
know my devotion and how much I love him. But 
shall I see him again ? " 

Note by the Editor.— Mile. George has also 
made rather a different tale of the scene which she 
has just related. Here is the second version— 

Before leaving Saint-Cloud I forgot an interview 
which I am going to tell you just as it happened. 
I was fetched at eight in the evening, and arrived 
at Saint-Cloud, and in the evening went into the 
apartment near the bedroom. It was the first tmie 
I had seen that apartment, which was the hbrary. 
The Consul came at once. 

" I got you to come much earher, Georgina, as I 
wanted to see you before my departure." 

" Heavens ! are you leaving ? " 

" Yes ; at eleven to-morrow morning, for Boulogne. 
No one knows it yet." 



MEMOIRS 165 

We were seated quite simply on the carpet. 

" Well, aren't you sorry ? " 

" Yes, of course I am sorry." 

" Don't you experience any pain in seeing me go 
away f 

He placed his hand on my heart and pretended 
to tear it out, saying to me in a half-angry, half- 
tender tone — 

" There is nothing for me in this heart.'' 

Those were his very words. I was on the rack, 
and would have given everything in the world to 
cry ; but I did not even want to. We were on 
the carpet near the fire. My eyes were fixed on 
the fire and the shining fire-irons, and remained 
fixed there like a mummy. Whether it was the 
glow of the fire, of the irons, or of my feelings, if 
you like that better, two great enormous tears fell on 
my breast, and the Consul, with a tenderness I am 
unable to express, kissed them and drank them. 

{Alas / hoxv am I to tell that ? Yet, it is true.) 

I was so touched to the heart with this proof of 
love that I began to sob wdth real tears. How can 
I teU you ? He was wild with happiness and joy. 
He would have given me the Tuileries at that 
moment if I had asked him. He laughed and 
played with me, and made me run after him. To 
avoid being caught, he climbed on a ladder which 
was used for fetching books, and as the ladder was 
very light and on wheels, I pushed it the whole 
length of the room. He laughed and exclaimed, 
" You will hurt yourself. Stop, or I shall be cross." 



166 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

{Dear friend, you can turn that to account ; it 
will be so nice told by you, good Valmore. You will 
know the date the Emperor set out for the camp at 
Boulogne.) 

That evening the Consul stuffed a great packet 
of bank-notes in my mouth. 

" Heavens ! why do you give me all that ? " 

" I don't want my Georgina to be without money 
in my absence." 

{His own words !) 

There were forty thousand francs. 

The Emperor never sent money by any one. He 
always gave it himself. 

He was more tender that evening than I had ever 
seen him. 

I forgot to tell you that that evening he sent 
away M. de Talleyrand, who had come to work with 
him. The next day I was at Talleyrand's, where I 
often went with the Emperor's knowledge. 

"Ah, come here, my beauty, and let me scold 
you. I was sent away yesterday on your 
account." 

" I don't know what you mean. What ! you 
were refused admission to my dressing-room at the 
Feydeau, where I was ? You astonish me greatly." 

" You are too young for a diplomat ; you don't 
yet know how to lie, but that will come. As a 
matter of fact you are right ; I was not in the least 
offended at being sent away ; I should have done 
just the same. I hurried back to Paris to my cards. 
But that is twice I have been dismissed for the same 



MEMOIRS 167 

object. Be proud : that has never happened to me 
before." 

(/ can pi^ove to you that this is true. Besides^ 
Talleyrand was always charming ; he was so witty. ) 

I was free for several days ; for ever, perhaps. 
An absence of several days will suffice for the 
Consul to think no more of me ; he will want 
another plaything, I am of such little consequence. 
However, he was very tender. This evening will 
count for something in my life. I felt ungrate- 
ful and cold ; I don't deserve what he is to me 
— I a nothing, who at the moment did not under- 
stand all the grandeur of the sentiment which 
made that glory fall before a few tears of a stupid 
child. I am angry with myself and despise myself. 
You will understand the value of the man when 
he sees you no more ; you will have deserved his 
forgetfulness. 

During his absence 1 thought I should breathe 
more freely and amuse myself by running about 
everywhere ; but not at all. I was more isolated 
and more bored. I had to play, and that was the 
best distraction ; but, confronted with the crowded 
house, I saw a desert. That box where the Consul 
was so often present at our tragic performances, 
that empty box seemed so sad. My good Talma 
himself did not act with the same feelinff. That 
evening I seemed to hear the carriage which should 
take me to Saint-Cloud. Everything is a matter of 
caprice in life ; we do not want what we possess, 
and we desire that which we have no more. If the 



168 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Consul does not want to receive me on his return, 
I shall go away. Ah, yes ; certainly I will not 
remain in this frightful Paris if I may not see him 
again. I do not know where I shall go, but I 
shall set out perfectly happy. . . . Happy ! no, 
1 could not be, in spite of my youth and flighti- 
ness, if you like. I saw clearly that my envied 
position was most unstable. From one moment to 
another the beautiful edifice might crumble. How 
could I flatter myself into thinking that this too 
brilliant position would have no end ? One has to 
live too uncertain a life. Let us not think of it. 
Let us try not to see, and walk on. 

1 had only Talma, who listened to all my woes 
with the patience of an angel. I must have bored 
him. 

"You have a magnificent future as an actress, 
which will always render you independent. Don't 
dream of the impossible. Amuse yourself. I only 
hope that this disappointment, if it comes, will not 
drive you into becoining a Carmelite, like the 
beautiful La Valliere. You would be too funny 
behind the veil, and quite certainly you would not 
complete the year of your novitiate." 

" Yes, you are right ; I should cut a poor figure, 
and no one would come to snatch the poor actress 
from that holy asylum. I should certainly be left 
there. Let me be frankly an actress ; without 
false devotion, which is ridiculous. Let us adore 
God ; I do adore Him and say my little prayer 
every evening. I pray my own prayers, and 1 have 



MEMOIRS 169 

never cared to learn written ones. I prefer to learn 
Racine : that makes more effect." 

" Come this evening : you will find David and 
Gerard and others." 

"All right ; count on me, dear friend." 

I saw very few people at my own home. I 
refused nearly every visit from fear. It was an 
existence nearly always constrained : my position 
demanded a great reserve of me. So, I did 
not live, and bored myself horribly. My good 
Talma was often with me, and always frightfully 
nervous. 

" Take care, dear friend. The women are angry 
with you : they are spiteful. Don't lose the 
attachment of the Consul through your own 
fault. Don't do anythmg rash, avoid all the 
horrible tittle-tattle." 

"Yes, dear Talma, I have everything I can 
desire, except intimate happiness, for, in fact, I 
am like a machine. I do not belong to myself, 
and I am waiting till my presence is desired. I 
am nothing in the great man's existence, and I am, 
whatever you may say, very isolated. In spite of 
your friendly advice, I regret my liberty as a young 
girl, going and coming without conditions, with a 
will of my own ; receiving who ever wants me and 
pleases me. What a charming existence ! Nothing 
can compare with independence. I prefer my 
humble freedom to a beautiful gilded cage. There 
is unhappiness for whoever leaves the sphere where 
God has placed him. I am nothing but a fool. 



170 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Self-love urges me on ; then, afterwards, I am left 
to love a man whom I should only admire. Thus 
J reason when I am away from the Consul ; with 
him. I am the happiest woman in the world." 

The Consul returned in about days. 

{Dear Valmore, if you haven t all the dates, I have 
begged a friend of mine. Saint- Ange, to procure 
them for me. He is an old friend of HareTs, who 
is even going to do me a biography, which will be 
very 7iice.) 

I saw the Consul the day after his arrival at 
the Tuileries, in a room which I can still see : 
the little windows above the state apartments, a 
drawing- and bed-room with a sort of little boudoir. 
My dear little windows, how often I look at you. 
I liked them so much that I often used to take 
my bath at Vigier's, because from the bathroom 
I saw my dear little windows. I was foolishly 
sentimental ! 

" See, Clementine, look well at those little win- 
dows with their shutters. That one, there, is my 
room, where I am loved and where I love. I am 
passionately in love with my good and handsome 
Consul. I am always trembling lest it may end. I 
am such an insignificant thing I know quite well, 
and it is that which causes me despair. Think, 
I am ridiculous enough to wish to be a great 
lady 1 " 

To reach the pretty little suite, there was a 
horrible amount of climbing, and very dark passages 
to pass. 



MEMOIRS 171 

" Ah, Constant, how high up ! I can't go on 
any more." 

" Hush ! no noise." 

'* Why, hush ? At Saint-Cloud you used not to 
say ' hush ! ' You annoy me with your ' hush.' 
Here, there are people everywhere." 

At last we are there. I entered through a small 
cabinet which led into the bedroom. The Consul 
had not yet come up, and I rid myself of my 
cashmere shawl. I was in the habit of putting on 
two pairs of shoes, because at Saint-Cloud 1 had 
to cross the orangery. I was just going to remove 
the first pair of shoes, when I perceived that I had 
lost one of them on those frightful stairs. 

" Heavens ! Constant, I have lost a shoe. Run 
and look for it. JVIy name is in all my shoes. 
What will the Consul say ? Run quickly." 

While he ran after the wretched shoe the Consul 
arrived, kind and tender as usual ; but I was quite 
troubled. 

" What's the matter, Georgina ? Come, child, 
tell me." 

" I dare not tell you what has happened, but it 
is annoying. 1 have lost my shoe in one of those 
wretched staircases." 

" That's a very small misfortune ! " 

" Yes, but that is not all ; my name is written 
in all my shoes. You see how annoying it is. 1 
tremble to think about it." 

" Well, dear Georgina, your name will be read, 
and he who finds the pretty white shoe will keep 



172 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

it, the coxcomb, as having belonged to a beautiful 
woman. Don't torment yourself, and be quite 
happy to see me again." 

" I am very happy to find you the same to me 
as you have always been. But please ring for 
Constant, who has gone after that frightful shoe ! " 

Constant entered with the shoe. 

" Ah, now I am all happiness and joy to see you 
again." Questions were not lacking. He was a 
proper child, the Emperor 1 I told him the truth. 

'' I was very bored — I am often bored. See, 
I should like to be always with you. I am very 
silly, am I not? I know quite well that it is 
impossible. I know very well, too, that I cannot 
occupy your thoughts. I am a little distraction, 
that is all ! Still it is sad, but so it must be." 

The Consul was too good not to tell me the 
contrary. It was kindness, nothing else, but that 
benevolent kindness ought to satisfy me. I retired 
almost in daylight. The Emperor did not mind, 
but it was very embarrassing and disagreeable. 

Constant, as stupid as a post, made the carriage 
wait at the small door by the water-side. I told 
the Emperor that that annoyed me, and henceforth 
the carriage waited at the bottom of the lawn. 

I saw the Emperor nearly always twice a week, 
and sometimes three times. One day, when my 
toilette was a little more stylish 

{I forgot to tell you, I believe, that the Emperor 
used to undress and dress me himself, and placed 
everything in order just like a good ladys-maid. He 



MEMOIRS 173 

took off my stockifigs and, as my garters had buckles, 
he was impatient, and told me to have some round 
garters made at once to pass over the feet. Since 
that period, too far away for my charms, I have 
worn nothing else. These details are insignificant 
for the memoirs, but I want to tell you everything.) 

I had a pretty wreath of white roses. The 
Emperor, who that evening was charmingly gay, 
decked himself with my wreath, and, looking at 
himself in the glass, said to me — 

" Ha, Georgina, how pretty I am with the 
wreath ; I look like a fly in some milk " {those were 
his childish words). Then he began to sing, and 
forced me to sing with him the duet from la Fausse 
Magie — 

" Fous souvient-il de cette fete ou I'oii voidut nous voir danger ? " 

There, that is how the Emperor behaved with 
me. As I was always questioning Constant to 
know if the Consul was always the same to me, 
he replied — 

" Heavens ! I don't know if the Consul is very 
faithful, but I know this quite well that, the day 
he gives me the order to come and fetch you, he 
is very hght-hearted, and I seem to lift him from 
the gi'ound as I help him with his breeches. Be- 
sides, would you like me to tell you something ? 
I believe the respect and reverence of great ladies 
fatigue him and make him yawn ; while, with you, 
he is always gay and jolly, and leaves the receptions 
in very good time to rejoin you." 



174 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

{All that is true !) 

But how stupid Constant is to tell me all 
that ! He gives me joy and, by his stupid words, 
leaves uneasiness in my heart. There are others, 
but he prefers me. Why ? Because I am of no 
consequence, and he is a child with a child. I 
amuse him ; that is a good deal, but not enough, 
and that can't last. Ah ! always my fixed idea. 
When all is over I shall go away. Instead of 
saying to myself, " How childish, my dear, you will 
find something else ! " — and yet it xsoas very childish ! 

I arrived. Constant said to me — 

" The Consul has gone up and is waiting for 

you." 

I entered. No one was there, and I looked in 
all the rooms. I called out. Nothing ! Nobody ! 
Then I rang. 

" Constant, has the Consul gone down again ? " 

" No, madame, search well." 

He winked at me and showed me the door of 
the boudoir, which I had never thought of entering. 
The Consul was there, hidden beneath cushions 
and laughing like a school-boy. He had asked for 
my portrait, and I had brought it him. It was a 
miniature, which he did not consider very good, 
and he was right. 

" Well, return it to me, and I will have another 
done." 

" No, I will keep it ; you can always have 
another done all the same." 

" Yes, but on one condition." 



MEMOIRS 175 

" Ah ! there are conditions, Mademoiselle 
Georgina ! Let us hear the conditions." 

" Listen, then. It is not very amusing to pose, 
and especially for me, who have no patience, so 
I make a great sacrifice for you. Well, I want 
your portrait in exchange. Do you see, I want it. 
No, I desire it, that is better." 

" If you are nice and good I will give it 

you." 

But he did not propose giving me a gold coin 
with his effigy, as has been suggested. I had, 
and still have, his portrait, an adorable miniature, 
properly given by him to me. 

" As I haven't yet got your portrait, to-day I want 
even something else. Don't refuse me, because 
to-day I am in a very bad temper, and I shall be 
cross." 

He laughed till he cried. 

'' I refuse ; I want to see you in a great rage. 
There now, I refuse." 

" We shall see. Ring for Constant." 

"Ring yourself. I allow you." 

" Constant, some scissors." 

" Go and bring madame the scissors. Ah ! what 
do you wish to do with the scissors ? What do you 
want to cut off? Really, you are frightening me." 

How the dear Consul laughed I 

" I want to cut off a lock of your beautiful hair, 
so soft and fine." 

" No, no, my dear ; I have too little of it." 

But I ran after him, holding my scissors. 



176 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" I only want four hairs ; I promise you not to 
cut any more. If you have no confidence in me, I 
shall go away." 

" Ah ! the obstinate little wretch. Come, then, 
cut them ; but don't let it be seen." 

I cut four or five hairs. 

" See if I have kept my word. I have really too 
few." 

" Well, rascal, cut again, but only a few." 

"Yes, rest assured." 

And I cut off a nice little lock. 

" Oh, the lying little wretch ! It is enormous." 

" No, look carefully ; pardon me, it won't be 
seen at all. I still want something else." 

" Ah ! will you soon be finished ? " 

" At once. Well, I want you when you come 
into your little box — you know the little box where 
I like to see you so much — to show me my portrait. 
I don't know how you will do it, but you will make 
me very happy." 

{Dear fi^iejid, there is no one else in the world 
who can turn all these details to account, which will 
become charming in your hands.) 

You see the Emperor's character, and how he 
quite lent himself to the caprices of a mere chit. 
Great men have their weak side, it is sweet for 
them sometimes to descend and become small, to 
know the simple and intimate side of life in its 
details, and doubtless they are happy to forget 
themselves sometimes. 

Next day he came to listen to ks Horaces, and 



MEMOIRS 177 

at a moment when I was standing at the side of the 
stage near his box he raised his pretty httle hand 
and made me a sign. Had he the portrait ? I do 
not know. The intention was sufficiently amiable, 
and I had to be content with that. 

In spite of the rumours which were current con- 
cerning my intimacy with the Consul, adorers (I 
can't find another word, and that is a bad one) did 
not fail to present themselves. Decidedly I did not 
want to live altogether like a recluse. I received 
in my dressing-room, after my performances, 
Frenchmen and foreigners of high distinction. And 
why not receive them now and again at home ? 

One day the secretary of the Prince of Wiirtem- 
berg {/iisto?ical) was announced. I received the 
gentleman, who brought me, on behalf of the prince, 
a magnificent diamond ring, which he begged me 
to accept as a proof of the pleasure he had experi- 
enced at the performances of ks Horaces. It was 
simple homage, which he hoped I would accept; 
and further,' an enormous red velvet purse embroi- 
dered in gold, one of those purses of the shape 
which are used as ofFertory-bags. This purse, of 
colossal dimensions, was filled with louis. 

" Sir, tell the prince that I accept with pleasure 
and pride the ring he condescends to offer me. As 
for the purse, I refuse it. He can make a better 
use of the money, which will relieve many unfor- 
tunates. But French artistes are not in the habit 
of receiving offerings of money." 

The gentleman was very confused. 



178 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

"Mademoiselle, the prince will make his own 
excuses if you avUI receive him. He did not at all 
wish to wound you in offering you this purse, and 
he would have begged you — I have not the least 
doubt about it — to distribute the money yourself." 

" Thank the prince, sir, and be good enough to 
tell him that I perform my very modest charities 
with my own small purse. Yes, M. le prince can 
come, and I shall have great pleasure in receiving 
him and thanking him." 

( This happened to me. ) 

The prince came the next day, and, judge of 
my surprise, it was the soi-disant secretary ! 

" Heavens ! prince, tell me why you disguised 
yourself" 

"Pardon, mademoiselle, but I dared not ..." 

" Ah ! yes, because of that beautiful purse. 
You don't know me, prince ; but gold is a 
bad passport to reach me with. I don't like 
money." 

The prince was tall, very slender, and shy, which 
gave him a very awkward appearance. He was 
the father, I think {you ought to k?LOw, Valmore)^ 
of the Empress of Russia, wife of Paul I. 

The dear prince used to see me in my dressing- 
room, where he found good and distinguished 
company. Those reunions were charming. After 
the performance of the tragedy. Talma, who re- 
ceived the same visits, always came down to my 
dressing-room, accompanied by his cortege of 
artistes and notabilities. It often happened that 



MEMOIRS 179 

Mongila, the call-boy at the theatre, came to tell 
us that the performance was ended. Impossible ! 

On next seeing the First Consul, he said — 

" Well, Georgina, did you receive the Prince 
of Wiirtemberg ? " 

"Yes, and I will tell you what has happened 
to me." 

" In a week many things can happen." 

" I see you so seldom, so listen. I get bored 
myself. I received the prince, and I shall receive 
many others. Besides, you know, all the visits we 
receive in our dressing-rooms are public, so where's 
the harm." 

" You have a disposition for grandeur, dear 
Georgina." 

" You have given me the taste for them ; I 
adapt myself to a very good school. As long as 
I have the good fortune to inspire you with a little 
interest, I shall do nothing which may cause your 
favour to cool." 

" But afterwards ? " 

" I don't know what may happen." 

" You are very foolish." 

" Well, that is what I was going to tell you 
about : here is the ring to begin with." 

I told him the story of the purse. 

"Fie!" said the Consul. "What bad taste! 
You received that ring a little lightly. I expect 
you not to receive presents again in so-called 
homage of your talent ; that is not proper." 

" However, there are actresses who have received 



180 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

presents abroad ; one sees it every day. It is not 
their fault if the French only show their admiration 
by beautiful phrases ; it is much cheaper." 

" Georgina, you do not please me this evening. 
I don't like that talk. I think I shall do well to 
marry you off." 

(/ do not remember if I told you of the proposition 
he made me, and perhaps I am repeating it again. 
What does it matter ?) 

"I to be married ! I ! And to whom, then ? 
Heavens ! " 

" Be calm ; I will give you to a general. You 
will leave the stage, of course, and live honourably." 

" Is the proposition you are making serious ? " 

" Very serious." 

I was wounded to the bottom of my heart. Ah ! 
Constant, you were stupid enough to tell me the 
truth ! Ha ! ha ! Some great lady has passed his 
way ! My mind was soon made up. 

" I beg a thousand pardons for disobeying you, 
but I won't and can't get married. When you had 
the caprice to send for me ..." 

" Caprice ! " he exclaimed. 

" Yes, my God, caprice ! . . . I was an artiste, 
and will remain an artiste. I to take a conventional 
husband ! Ah ! if one can be found complaisant 
enough to play the part, you may be sure I could 
neither love nor esteem such a man ! " 

" You are right, Georgina ; you are a fine 
girl ! " 

I spoke thus to the Emperor frankly and 



MEMOIRS 181 

artlessly many times. As I wished to keep up a 
worldly talk, which one learns like a part, the 
Emperor stopped me, laughing, and saying — 

'* Leave these silly phrases and speak to me as 
you feel ; don't try your wit on me. Tell me 
everything that comes to you naturally." 

He never scolded me for my whims and stupidities, 
you understand. That is why, I believe, in spite 
of his absences, I always found him, even to the 
last moment, kind and excellent to me ; so it has 
become a cult, an adoration which nothing has been 
able to change, and in which I glory. All these recol- 
lections have consoled me for many disappointments 
and miseries, and many betrayals. Poor Emperor ! 
How the illustrious martyr had to suffer ! One has 
no right to complain. 

{Dear friend, put in those lines on my Emperor ; 
I particularly want to put them in.) 

The Emperor was not eight days without seeing 
me again. I found him gay and still kind. A 
singular adventure happened to me, which I will 
relate. 

A Captain Hill was announced — English or 
American ? " Let the gentleman tell you what he 
wants, Clementine. You know that I no longer 
receive people who have not been introduced to 
me and whom I don't know. Well, come then — 
what does he want ? " 

" He says he can only say to you what he has 
been charged with." 

" Well, let him wi*ite to me." 



182 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" The gentleman pretends that he is unable to 
write it ; he can only speak, and not write." 

" Well, tell him to be off, and that I can't 
receive him ; and don't you return, it annoys me." 

In spite of my order, Clementine, who never 
allowed herself to be intimidated, returned. 

" What ! there again, insolent girl ! Leave me." 

" But, mademoiselle, the gentleman is very 
amusing, and your curiosity will be piqued when 
you know him. What he has to say is a secret 
he can only confide to you." 

" A secret ! — that is pecuUar. Well, I will 
receive him to-morrow at two o'clock. Who is 
the man ? Has he come to ask help ? Is he a 
poor beggar ? " 

" Oh, not at all ! He is a very handsome man, 
quite well groomed and very elegant." 

" Well, perhaps he is a thief Your handsome 
man frightens me, Clementine. You will remain 
in the boudoir, and the valet will remain as sentinel 
at the door of my room. You will be the cause 
of whatever misfortune may happen, idiot that 
you are, to come and excite my curiosity ! Your 
handsome man has not yet been received." 

At two o'clock next day Captain Hill was 
announced. 

" Come, the die is cast ! Let him come in, and 
you stop there." 

He was certainly quite a nice man, with excel- 
lent manners. 

" What do you want of me, monsieur ? " 



MEMOIRS 183 

"Madame, I am charged with a very delicate 
mission, which embarrasses me strangely. Madame, 
pardon me at once the proposition which I am 
going to make to you. I have to speak seriously 
to you, but my words can only be heard in the 
open air." 

" What, sir, in the open air ? Really this strange 
proposal cannot be accepted, nor do I accept it. 
Excuse me, sir, if I leave you, but I can listen 
to you no longer." 

" But, madame, do not distrust me, please." 

" Ah, that's it, monsieur ; do you want to elope 
with me, then ? " 

" Madame, not the least in the world. Let your 
carriage follow me with your people in it to the 
bois de Boulogne. Be so good as to accept a place 
in my carriage, and once in the open air you shall 
know all and learn the object of my mission, which 
perhaps will not be without interest for you." 

" Perhaps all this may be true ; but 1 refuse." 

I was terribly frightened, 

" Reflect, madame. What I have to offer does 
not present itself twice in a lifetime. Reflect, and 
perhaps you will be more confident." 

I turned my head aside. 

" Well, Clementine, what do you say about it ? 
Isn't it terrifying ? " 

" My word, no, mademoiselle ! The man is all 
right. What harm do you suppose he could do 
you ? If I were in your place I should go." 

'* Well, you go with him. You will gain some- 



184 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

thing by it, doubtless. As for me, I shall not go. 
Who is the man ? " 

But suppositions kept on recurring. My imagin- 
ation ran on at the same time. He returned next 
day — I refused — and the day after. That man 
fatigues me. I want to know who he is. 

" Tell him to come to-morrow at two. I will 

go!" 

The next day saw me in a carriage beside this 
mysterious personage, handsome and young, who 
really would have done better to speak for 
himself. I was very careless to expose myself 
thus. Every instant I looked out of the door to 
assure myself that I was being followed by my own 
carriage and servants. 

At last we reached the bois de Boulogne. 

*' At last, sir, we are in the open air, I hope. 
Explain yourself quickly, for I confess to you I am 
in a hurry to leave you." 

He gave me in the interview some half-confi- 
dences : that I had inspired a violent passion in a 
high and mighty English lord ; that he had had 
my portrait done (some daub, doubtless) ; that he 
was madly in love, and wished at any cost to make 
me leave France. 

I began to laugh. 

" Don't laugh, madame, it is quite serious." (Yes, 
if I wish it, I suppose.) 

He gave me details about the house I should 
occupy, and the brilliant existence I should lead ; 
but they were always mysterious details. 



MEMOIRS 185 

" Yes, monsieur, all that is truly magnificent. 
But of whom are you speaking ? Supposing that, 
for the first time in my life, riches tempt me to the 
point of leaving everything, and exiling myself in a 
country I do not love at all, and which I never shall 
love, at least I wish to know the name of the 
brilliant and luxurious lover. You will admit, 
monsieur, that all this too much resembles a tale 
from The Thousand and One Nights ; that it is as 
strange as you, a young and handsome knight, who 
charge yourself with such an embassy. It is not 
at all understandable." 

He was unwilling to tell me more about it. 

" Then," I said, " good-day, sir. I am going 
back to my carriage." 

I did so, laughing heartily at the comical adven- 
ture. He is an original, who wished to amuse 
himself— that is all. I thought no more about it, 
nor even mentioned it again. 

But the man was always before me, seated in 
the promenades or the theatres. 

" Ah ! my dear sir, your perseverance in following 
me is beginning to fatigue me strangely. I am 
very much tempted to tell the Consul of your 
inconceivable obstinacy." 

But what's the good ? He is an original ; better 
leave him alone. 

He did not consider himself beaten, and returned 
again and again. I would not receive him. He 
waited for me at the foot of the staircase, and 
at the moment I was getting into the carriage, 



186 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

implored me to listen to him for an instant. I had 
to be poHte ; I could not mortify the man before 
my servant. 

" Madame, in mercy give me a second interview 
in the Bois ! " 

"My dear sir, this time you can go for your 
drive quite alone. This joke is lasting too long, 
and is annoying me to the last degree. Be so 
good as not to insist. You will make me cross. 
For goodness' sake write that to whoever sends you, 
and give me peace. A thousand comphments, and,' 
above all, good-bye." 

" You order me to retire, madame. I obey ; but 
before leaving you I ought not to leave you ignorant 
that having received an authorisation to tell you 
everything, I might perhaps hope that you would 
accord me a second interview." 

" Ah ! you have received authorisation to let me 
know your mysterious mission ? " 

A frightful curiosity was urging me. This was 
coming to me from a country which inspired me 
with little confidence. I decided at once; I 
had no more fear for myself, I wished to know 
everything. 

"Come, then, monsieur, but at once. Your 
carriage is there. I will get into it, and mine shall 
foUow." 

The man never said a word to me so long as we 
were in Paris; but in the midst of the trees he 
resumed his speech. He began by throwing 
down diamond ornaments, really magnificent 



MEMOIRS 187 

diamonds, you know — necklaces, bracelets, earrings, 
all kept together by little Venetian chains. The 
earrings especially were regal : huge stones hung 
from large drops. It was dazzling. 

" Ah ! monsieur, all that is very beautiful. And 
then ? " 

" Madame, all this is yours. You are begged 
to accept them. Here, besides, is the portrait of 
the prince." 

" The gentleman is very handsome, and the 
diamonds which surround his portrait are not less 
beautiful. He is superb ! But I have not the 
honour of knowing the face. His name, if you 
please ? " 

" Madame, it is the Prince of Wales ! " 

" Ah ! sir, so it is the Prince of Wales. Ah, 
indeed ! Take back all those objects. I am 
leaving you, monsieur, and I wish you good- 
bye." 

I got back into my own carriage. 

" You refuse, then, madame ? " 

"I refuse, sir, with joy." 

I had to see the Consul that evening, and hastened 
to tell him everything. 

" I was terrified, I swear to you, by the name of 
the personage. I tell you so, and don't accuse 
me of mere curiosity. No, I saw there were graver 
matters." 

" Dear Georgina, perhaps they wanted to bring 
to life a second Judith." 

" You will never be a Holofernes." 



188 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

"Reassure yourself; I knew all. You will never 
see him again." 

As a matter of fact I heard no more mention of 
him. I never met that man again. 

{Dear, all this adventure is true, very piquant and 
quite true. The whole history of Captain Hill is 
true.) 

My theatrical life kept me from boredom. I was 
playing continually. 

( Vei'teuil is going to send me the names of the new 
tragedies that appeared at this time. JVo doubt you 
remember them yourself, dear Valmore.) 

All those works had little success. There was 
one in 1806, I think, which caused all Paris to flock 
to it : les Templiers, by Raynouard. I shall never 
forget the first performance, which had gloomy 
results for my heart. 

Being unable to procure a box, either for gold 
or silver, I placed my little mother behind the 
scenes. She felt ill, and there was an anxious crowd 
round her, and her cashmere shawl was stolen. That 
was a little matter ; but, alas ! from that day my 
mother was constantly ill. Poor mother, she was 
touched by death ! 

Lafont's and my parts were capital, especially 
Lafont's. Mine was sown with some good Hnes, 
which produced an excellent effect. Talma in 
Marigny was admirable and as touching as possible. 
Saint-Prix as the grand maitre was good. The 
brilliant Dalmas caused much applause in his speech 
as the Constable. {He recited splendidly, if you 



MEMOIRS 189 

remember, V^almore.) Each performance filled the 
house to the roof ; it was a long and fruitful success. 
Our house was so badly constructed that I believe 
it could scarcely reach the figure of four thousand 
francs. 

My part could scarcely excite jealousy, but of 
course the poor Duchesnois was furious. 

" They gave you the part on account of your 
physique." 

" Do you think so, my dear ? You are wrong. 
I consider your part very original." 

(/ will write to Fonta of the Comedie-Frarifaise 
to ask Imri the number of tragical works which were 
played from my debut to the day of my departure 
for Russia, and since my return in 1813 to the day 
when an order f^om M. de Duras 7^einstated me. I 
think all that will be very useful.) 

I had been nearly a fortnight without seeing the 
Consul again. I let nothing be said to him. I 
waited, but this time without impatience, and nearly 
resolved to refuse my visit if it were asked of me ; 
which was not long in happening. 

Constant came to ask me in the name of the 
Consul to repair that evening to the Tuileries. 

" Impossible, my dear fellow I For a fortnight I 
have been quite ready ; to-day I am indisposed, 
and would not go out for anything in the world." 

Constant insisted. 

" The Consul will be cross." 

" I am very sorry ; but I do not wish to go 
out." 



190 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Was I a slave, then ? No, certainly not ; I too 
had my caprices. 

The day afterwards I was at the Fran9ais, in 
my little proscenium box looking out on to the 
theatre, right opposite the Consul's, who that day 
was also there. Les Femmes Savantes was being 
played, and some other little piece I do not re- 
member. I did not look once at the box. I would 
be very much on my guard ; I was too hurt for 
that. 

There was a knock at the door of the box, and 
I saw the handsome, and kind Murat. 

" What procures me the honour of your visit ? " 

" Nothing in particular, my dear Georgina ; the 
pleasure of a moment's talk with you, that's all. 
How comfortable you look in this little box, it is 
delightful and so cosy. Besides, you are opposite 
the Consul." 

" I have always had this box ; I do not care 
to show myself. Here I can scarcely be seen, and 
I can see everybody ; besides, one can talk at one's 
ease." 

" Cast your eyes on the Consul's box ; he looks 
at you a lot, pretending to listen to les Femmes 
Savantes^ 

" Ah ! I am very flattered, I assure you ; but as 
a matter of fact it doesn't interest me at all." 

" Has there been a quarrel, then ? " 

" Ah ! you are making fun ! One has not the 
right to quarrel with the Consul, but one has to 
remain one's own; that is what I am doing." 



MEMOIRS 191 

" Come, wrong-headed one ; you refused yester- 
day, did you not? You will consent to-morrow." 

" No more than yesterday. There, be kind, and 
don't talk to me any more about it. You see how 
red 1 am ; well, that is because I am angry. How 
hot it is here ; I am suffocating ! " 

" Will you, dear Georgina, come and take a little 
drive ? " 

" Very gladly ; I should be charmed to go out." 

" Give me a place in your caniage, Georgina. 
Where is it waiting ? " 

*' Over there, in the rue Montpensier." 

'* I will go there." 

At last we are seated. Prince Murat was ex- 
cellent, and certainly he was not used to doing the 
amiable. 

" Let us go to the bois de Boulogne." 

''Let us go." 

I was enchanted to have left my box before the 
Consul's departure. A little self-love satisfied, and 
a heart wounded. Ah, poor women I 

" See, general, what do you expect from me ? 
You know quite well that is all over. The Consul 
has remained a fortnight without seeing me." 

" Eh, well, what does that prove ? Do you 
think then, my dear, that he is a man like any 
other ? How silly you are ! " 

" Did you say silly ? Say stupid instead ! You 
say that he is not a man like other men. You 
are right ; he is a fine great man, exalted above all. 
But to a woman he is a man like any other." 



192 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" You are worth all of them. In spite of your 
charming anger, it doesn't do to be obstinate. You 
must go there to-morrow : he desires it. I tell 
you for your good. You would be wrong to be 
obdurate ; be glad that he desires to see you. Ah, 
my dear, other women would behave with more 
alacrity ! If you follow your head it will very soon 
make you commit plenty of follies, and much later 
you will repent of them." 

" You speak like a sage. That is splendid ; you 
really edify me and make me laugh — you, the 
handsome and brilliant Murat ! Thanks a thousand 
times for your grave counsels ! I will learn to profit 
by them, if I can. But then I should become 
a dissembler. Am I understood ? I shall see the 
Consul again, but with a mask. If I do not 
disguise myself I am quite disgraced." 

" Very well, put on your mask, but let it be of a 
more tender colour." 

" Changeable, you would say ? There, general, 
you are all monsters ! " 

The next day I was at the Tuileries, but with- 
out any joy. I do not know why, but it seemed 
to me that a misfortune was waiting for me. The 
Consul was the same, still kind and loving ; but I 
had a countenance which was not in keeping ; I 
did not smile, and was cold and serious. The 
Consul began to laugh. 

" Ah ! see what a face you are making ! Leave 
it off quickly, it doesn't suit you at all ; do not 
spoil my Georgina. That sulkiness is without 



MEMOIRS 193 

charm. Return to your nature quickly. Be as 
you were yesterday in your box : a spoilt child, 
and badly brought up, who does not like to be 
thwarted." 

" And you, sir, do not be so long away from me ; 
it is that which displeases and annoys me horribly." 

" One cannot do all one wishes, my dear 
Georgina ; but, whatever happens, be assured that 
I shall always have a tender attachment for you, 
and that I shall not lose sight of you." 

" But what you tell me is very sad. Shall I then 
see you no more ? " 

" Yes, my dear, always ; I promise you. Don't 
be afraid. There, that is enough ; no more 
questions to-day. Be good-natured and natural, 
and count on me." 

{All this, my friends, passed as I have tiTitte?i, a 
little time before his Coronation. I am not in good 
trim ; all my poor spirit is tortured for money, you 
understand. ) 

I returned home sadly, in spite of all the Consul's 
tenderness ; I felt that some misfortune was going 
to happen to me. Then it was that I repeated — 

" I will leave." 

I saw the Consul again a few days afterwards ; on 
entering he took my hands with unheard-of kindness, 
and made me sit down. 

" INIy dear Georgina, I have to tell you some- 
thing which will grieve you ; I shall not be able 
to see you for some time to come. A Veil, have 
you nothing to say ? " 



194 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" No ; I was expecting it. 1 should have been 
mad to beUeve that I, who am nothing in the 
world, could have occupied a place, I do not say 
in your heart, but in your thoughts. I have been 
a simple distraction, that is all." 

"You are a child, and it is charming of you to 
say that to me ; you prove your attachment, and 
I love to know you love me. We are loved so 
little ! But 1 will see you again, I promise 
you." 

" Thank you for your benevolent words, but 1 
shall not profit by your kindness ; I shall go 
away." 

" I don't believe that. You will never make 
that mistake ; you would lose your future." 

" My future ; I have none. Besides, it matters 
very little to me ; 1 shall go away." 

The Consul was kinder than he had ever been ; 
I was profoundly touched by all the sweet consoling 
words he condescended to use. He was so good, 
and kept me very late. 

"Come, my good Georgina, good-bye for the 
present." 

" Oh, not good-bye for the present, but adieu for 
ever." 

It seemed as if the world around me had van- 
ished. It seemed to me that everything was dead, 
that nothing woidd live again. Ah ! it is when we 
part that we feel all the happiness we are losing. 
I was another woman, quite broken by sorrow. 

"Well, Clementine, you will wait up no more 



MEMOIRS 195 

for me at night. It seems that I shall never see 
the Consul again." 

" Is it possible ? " 

" It is possible. For a time, he said." 

" You must believe him, mademoiselle. A man 
like him does not stand on ceremony, and if it was 
quite broken off he would have told you." 

We spent the rest of the night in making a 
thousand conjectures. 

(If was 7iea?'ly six o clock when I got back from 
the Tuileries.) 

At ten o'clock I sent for Talma, and he arrived 
quite out of breath. 

" Great Heavens ! What has happened, my dear 
friend, to make you send for me so early ? " 

" What has happened is that I shall never see 
the Consul again." 

" How is that, then ? It is not possible ! " 

" Oh, for that matter, everything is possible, my 
good friend. When one is thrown into too elevated 
a position, the future does not exist. However, 
the Consul was angelically tender and kind. He 
said to me, ' My dear Georgina, for a time I shall 
see you no more. A great event is going to 
happen which will take up every moment. But 
I will see you again, I promise you.' " 

( Those are his very words, dear Madame Valmore.) 

" Well, my dear, we must believe it. But the 
great event ! Ah ! I have it ! Don't you know ? 
There is talk of crowning the Consul, who will be 
declared Emperor. It is even said that the Pope 



196 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

will come to consecrate him at Notre Dame. 
Those are the rumours which are going about, 
but there is nothing official at the bottom of 
them." 

" Well, dear friend, when that will be, my 
seeing the Consul will not prevent the Pope from 
coming, or stop the coronation." 

" No ; but he himself even needs to stop any 
gossip." 

" Say, my friend, that his fancy is over ; or does 
he want to perform his devotions with humility, 
without being disturbed by feelings ? As you like. 
See, what has happened was to happen — 1 have 
told you so a hundred times. I have nothing to 
complain about. I only am to blame, thank God ; 
I am the one to suffer, and it is quite right. Yes 
dear friend, I suffer. My heart is not capital in- 
vested at heavy interest. I have given loyally 
without calculation. I have never thought for a 
moment of making a fortune, and he knows it. 
I have never desired anything. I was thoroughly 
happy in seeing him. You can well believe, dear 
friend, that I must suffer a great deal." 

" Come, come, you are over-excited. You go 
on and on without rhyme or reason. Could you 
imagine that a man such as lie would transform 
himself into the lover of Flori.an's FahlcH ? When 
one has the good fortune to attract the attention 
of such an immense man, you have, my dear, to 
become great in your turn, and leave off all childish 
ideas of romantic affection." 



MEMOTKS 197 

" You are right. I will say no more about it, 
and will not complain about a misfortune which 
must yield to greatness. I will become the 
Georgina of former times, and resume my gaiety 
and cherished indifference. Let us lunch together, 
Talma. Then, if you will be so kind, we will go 
and take a walk in the country." 

" But it is peri shingly cold, my dear." 

" Bah ! the cold does good ; it calms one. Ice is 
good when one has the fever. There, you will go 
and tell them at home that you are dining with 
me. Besides, I won't let you go ; I intend to 
spend the whole day with you. This evening 
we will go and hear our dear ingenuous Brunet ; 
although you are such a great tragedian he knows 
how to make you laugh — yes, and uproariously." 

" How you dispose of me ! I had business to do 
and calls to make." 

" Bah ! you will do all that to-morrow. To- 
morrow I shall have made up my mind what to 
do, and will restore to you your liberty. Is it 
agreed ? " 

" Well, well, do as you like with me, you crazy 
creature. I am your slave till to-night." 

The rumour of the Coronation gained credit 
from day to day, and at last became official. A 
month afterwards it took place. 

(December ? — the date ? — the day ? — the year ?) 

I was overwhelmingly sad. Why ? I ought to 
have rejoiced to see the great Napoleon elevated to 
the rank which belonged to him and which he had 



198 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

won. But selfishness is ever present. It seemed 
to me that, once upon the throne, the Emperor 
would never see his poor Georgina again. I did 
not care to see the ceremony. I had places for 
Notre Dame, but nothing would have induced 
me to go there. Besides, I have never had the 
least curiosity for public festivals. Still, my family 
wished to see, so I hired some windows in a house 
opposite the Pont Neuf, and got them for three 
hundred francs. But we had to go on foot. I 
had some difficulty in making up my mind to go — 
from the rue Saint-Honore it is a good step, and in 
the month of December too ! We dressed by 
candle-light, and when we set out it was scarcely 
day. The streets were crowded and sanded ; it 
was only possible to walk slowly, there were so 
many people. In about two hours we were in 
possession of our deai^ windoim. My footman had 
ordered a good fire beforehand, and breakfast. We 
were sheltered from cold and hunger — money is 
good sometimes ! We had four windows, two 
looking on to the square, and two on to the quay. 
The drawing-room was pleasant ; some good easy- 
chairs and arm-chairs — if they were good they were 
hard. The furniture of that period was atrocious. 
At the least movement there was a rush to the 
windows. 

" Come, sister, and look at the procession." 
" All right ; I shall have plenty of time. You 
open the windows every second ; I am freezing, so 
leave me at the fire. Perhaps 1 shall have to 



MEMOIRS 199 

play to-morrow, and I am not anxious to catch 
cold." 

Besides, I was bored to death. 

" I am going to sleep. Wake me up when you 
see the cavalry." 

" Ah ! ah ! the procession ! " 

This time it really was he. 

(//* Valmore would undertake the de,wription of 
this magnificent processio7i, it would be done zvith 
a 7n.aster hand. As for me, I dont understand 
anything about it, and the description is very 
essential ; it will make a diversion from the little 
insignificant details. The glass coaches, all the 
family, the Emperor s sisters, and that beautiful and 
gentle Hortense — / do not remember if she was 
the?^e, Valmoi^e, but she ought to have been. The 
carriage of Pope Pius VII, the cross-bearer, 
mounted on his mule, which the naughty little urchins 
teased, the coins which were thrown among the 
crowd — all these details, Valmore, are for you.) 

At last came the Emperor's carriage, richly 
gilded. All the pages, some on the steps, some 
behind, and everywhere, were admirable to behold. 
We were on the first floor, and nothing escaped 
us, our glances penetrated into the carriages. The 
Emperor was calm and smiling ; but the Empress 
Josephine was marvellous — she always had a 
perfect taste in dress ; but she was ever noble, and 
always had a benevolent glance which attracted 
you to her. She was, even in her dress of State, 
most simple and charming. She wore her diadem 



200 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

without apparently feeling its weight. She saluted 
her people with so much kindness and encourage- 
ment that every one's sympathy went out to her. 
Still, she was imposing, but her smile attracted 
you to her, and you could meet her glance with- 
out fear, persuaded that she would not repel you. 
Ah ! really, the adorable woman was thoroughly 
kind-hearted. Grandeurs had not changed her. 
She was a woman of ability and heart. What a 
misfortune for France and the Emperor that he 
divorced her ! 

The procession over, I returned home with a 
sad heart, saying to myself, " All is over." I heard 
no mention of the Emperor, and did not try to 
see him. I w^as in the habit of writing him a 
small note when T did not see him, but I found 
that I was to stand aside. I did so. Fetes, 
illuminations and fireworks were not wanting, but 
certainly 1 had no desire to run and see the 
spectacle. Mars came with Armand, Thenard, 
Bourgoin, and forced me to go with them to the 
Tuileries. It would have been ungracious on my 
part not to yield to them, for my sister burned 
with desire to rush there, and as Mars's daughter 
was my sister's little friend, I had to resign myself. 
So we found ourselves at the Tuileries in the midst 
of a crowd which was suffocating. The Emperor, 
Empress and all the Court were on the balcony 
and came forward to salute that enthusiastic 
crowd. There was a really dangerous moment. 



MEMOIRS 201 

Women cried, " I am suffocating ! " and my two 
little ones cried louder than any one. 

" Oh, my daughter ! " cried Mars, terrified. 

" Oh, my sister ! Save my sister, Armand ! " 
' " My friends, let us get away from here ; it is 
impossible for us to remain, we shall be crushed 
underfoot." 

And we hoisted the two children on poor 
Armand's shoulders. 

Then we saw I^afont, Talma and Fleury, coming 
towards us — luckily, too, by Jove ! They made a 
passage for us, and, thanks to them, we gained the 
street. 

" What a jolly evening ! We are nearly un- 
dressed, and quite torn to pieces. My cashmere 
shawl is a nice sight, if you like ! It is in shreds. 
I shall keep it as a remembrance of the amusement 
we have given ourselves." 

Bourgoin was furious. 

" I^ook, my girl, my beautiful lace veil has had 
the same fate as your shawl." 

" Heaven bless you, Armand ! You are the cause 
of it all. Why did you come for me ? " 

We ended by laughing at our disordered clothes. 
The good Thenard said to us — 

"The evening mustn't end thus. All of you 
come home. We will dance and sup ; then, 
children, every one to his own home." 

" So be it," says Fleury, " let us go and dance." 

I was gayer and in higher spirits than any of them 



202 A FAVOUKITE OF NAPOLEON 

— it was worth while. We danced and waltzed 
like mad things. I had taken Lafont as a 
partner. 

"Ah, my dear, not so quickly. Heavens, my 
head is swimming ! Do stop ! " 

*' Well, friend, let us turn more quickly." 

" T tell you, good woman, I am exhausted. I 
shall fall." 

And he actually did fall on purpose. 

" Now, my dear, you will leave me in peace." 

He was laughed at, and a penance was imposed. 

" Very good, friends, I am suited splendidly in 
my little corner where you have placed me. Only 
give me something to drink." 

" Th(5nard, a large glass of water. T^afont is 
thirsty." 

" Don't trouble, you people, T will help myself. 
I know where the fountain is." 

He passed into the dining-room, and helped him- 
self to some A ery good wine. 

" I^ook at the Gascon ! What fools he is 
making of you all ! Let us hurry to the supper- 
table or he will revenge himself by eating up 
every tiling." 

{All these details are very childish; but, as they 
are true, you xiill do what you, like with them.) 

We retired at six in the morning. Bourgoin kept 
on falling asleep in every corner. 

" Ah ! my girl, I am done up ; I shall never 
have the courage to return home. ' 

" I will drive you back ; be easy." 



MEMOIRS 203 

" And me too, George," said Mars, " I must be 
taken back as well." 

" And so must we all." 

" But where can I put you all ? It is impossible." 

" We'll get on the dicky behind, with the man." 

" And I'll keep dear Mezerai here for the night. 
She shall have a bed on the sofa." 

" Come, then, and arrange yourselves as best 
you can." 

Mars, Bourgoin and I, with the two children with 
us, go inside the carriage, and the rest as best they 
can — Armand and Talma on the box, Fleury 
and Lafont behind ! 

" Bourgoin, my girl, drive 1'alma to the rue de 
Seine. And a nice drive we have ; the poor 
horses have got their load." 

Armand, Mars, rue de Richelieu ; the handsome 
Lafont, rue de Villedo ; Pleury, rue Traversi^re. 

" Good morning, dear comrades. We shall all 
be very fresh to-day ; still we have amused our- 
selves although we have tired ourselves. C'ourage, 
you people of the Comcdie ; I don't despair of 
the public hissing you to-night. You will sleep 
standing." 

{Your gay and jjouthjul mind will find some 
drolleries in this shochingiy stupid account. What 
can you eapect, dear ? It is stupid as I tell it, but 
it will become witty and amusing under your pert.) 

Ten days after the Coronation the Emperor 
commanded Cinna. His appearance with the Em- 
press caused an outburst of enthusiasm beyond 



204 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

description. All the ladies stood up and waved 
their handkerchiefs. The cries of " Long live the 
Emperor ! Long live the Empress ! " vi^ere enough 
to split one's head. It was a proper and beautiful 
homage of well-deserved enthusiasm. 

Strangely enough, I remained cold and unfeeling, 
like a marble statue ; an impassable barrier was 
raised in my eyes between an Emperor and me. 
The pleasing past was to be effaced from my 
memory ; but could it be from my heart ? I had 
to try, and the struggle was ^'ery painful. Let 
me be simply an artiste, and forget. 

I went on to the stage with a wish to be only 
Emilie, and nothing more. I did not turn my eyes 
once to that box which recently caused me so much 
joy. I played my part, encouraged by Talma, who 
kept on repeating — 

" Don't give way, whatever you do. Look at 
this house, crov/ded with notabilities of all sorts. 
Dear friend, think of your future, and don't give 
your critics any hold. Pride alone, on account 
of the Emperor's presence, ought to make you 
surpass yourself." 

Dear friend ! It was quite right what he told me ; 
my somewhat vivid imagination was kindled, and 
I really forgot everything, and tried to place myself 
to the level of my impersonation. My Talma was 
happy at my success. In my scenes with him he 
kept saying to me in a low voice — 

" That's it ! You are doing capitally ; go on. 
Speak out, but don't force your voice." 



MEMOIRS 205 

Still I had cause to be disconcerted ; the Emperor 
applauded me very much, and tlie good and 
benevolent Josephine approved by inclinations of 
her gracious head the applause which had been 
given me. In the fifth act, at the famous line — 

" Si fai seduil Cinna,j'en xeduirai bien d'autrcs," — 

which I said in a very low voice ; 1 felt how im- 
proper the application would be. The public — 
the fine and appreciative Parisian public — felt it 
too. There was a great silence ; I breathed freely 
and raised my head. 

The Emperor and Empress sent to compliment 
us. That evening, for instance, our dressing-rooms 
were filled with all the Ambassadors and several 
Ministers, as was the custom. These gentlemen 
liked to come among the actresses, and, without 
disguising their rank, would proudly cross the 
corridor which led to our dressing-rooms quite 
publicly. They liked to be present at the little 
disorder which was quite natural after a perform- 
ance ; to see us in our wraps, despoiled of our 
tinsel. The dresser would say to them — 

" Pardon, gentlemen, let me get to madame ; 
I must take down her hair." 

"Allow me, gentlemen, to rid myself of these 
ornaments, which tire my head." 

" Certainly. We don't wish to disturb you." 

And Talleyrand would say purposely from his 
corner at the fire-place — 

" You don't disturb her. Our beautiful Georgina 



206 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

is a woman and a flirt ; she wants to be seen in 
all her simplicity. Look how this pink muslin 
negUge suits her and affords a glimpse of her arms. 
You agree, gentlemen, this costume is just as good 
as Emilie's ? " 

" Monseigneur, I beg you to hold your tongue. 
You are always sarcastic with your railing com- 
pliments. Ah ! you are a wretch, and you will see 
I won't let you come into my dressing-room any 
more ! 

" You would be very sorry for it. My compli- 
ments don't wound you as much as you pretend. 
Am I not right, Talma, that she is a flirt ? " 

That elegant circle, those great men, the poets 
and painters, who held their places worthily and 
to whom homage was rendered, flattered one's 
vanity however much one may have wished not 
to let it influence one. Such pleasures alleviate 
boredom. 

In the midst of all this I had heard no mention 
of the Emperor since the ceremony. I made a 
thousand plans. I was beginning to isolate myself 
less, and received more people, though I was not 
seeking for pleasures, but distractions and excite- 
ments which should prevent me from thinking. 
That was all I could hope. 

At length, after more than five weeks, Constant 
came. 

" What chance brings you here after such a long 
absence ? What do you want ? " 

" The Emperor begs you to come this evening." 



MEMOIRS 207 

"Ah ! he remembers me ? Tell the Emperor 
that 1 will obey his orders. What time ? " 

" Eight o'clock." 

" 1 shall be ready." 

This time I was impatient, and could hardly 
keep still. My poor little slighted heart ! 

I made a dazzling toilette. The Emperor 
received me with his usual kindness. 

" How beautiful you are, Georgina ! What 
finery ! " 

" Could one be too fine, sire, when one has the 
honour to be received by your Majesty ? " 

'* All ! my dear, what a demeanour and what 
courtly language ! Come, Georgina, high-flown 
manners don't suit you at all. Be what you were : 
a good-hearted, frank and simple creature." 

" Sire, one changes in five weeks ; you have 
given me time to reflect and to forget my former 
habits. No, I am no longer the same ; I feel it. 
1 shall always be honoured when your Majesty 
deigns to receive me, but that is all, I am dis- 
couraged, and I must have a change of air." 

How shall 1 tell you ? He was very indulgent, 
in fact he was perfect, taking the trouble to dis- 
abuse me of my fears. I accepted his kind words, 
but I did not trust them. I returned with very 
bad thoughts, almost paralysed. Ought I to be- 
lieve him ? Ought I to doubt him ? Yes, I found 
him just the same as in the past ; but I do not 
know why the Emperor has driven away my First 
Consul. Everything is much grander and more 



208 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

imposing ; happiness ought not to be there. Let 
us look for happiness elsewhere if it exists at all. 

1 saw the Emperor less frequently. A beauti- 
ful woman (married, however) attached to the 
Empress began to be talked about ; still lower it 
was whispered tliat the Emperor was paying her 
attention. Dear Josephine ! the simple actress was 
to be preferred ; she remained in the background 
and caused no offence ! 

{Yo7i will see, dear, if you wish to put that in. It 
was Madavie DnchdteL) 

Not being at ease anywhere, I decided to leave 
my apartments in the rue Saint- Honore. I had 
really taken a violent dislike to them. 

{Dear, good friend, I have such a poor head for 
what I am doing that I really have forgotten if I 
told you t/ie little anecdote of T>emidofj'—I was still 
in the rue Saint- Honoi'c.) 

Demidoff was pretentious enough, because of his 
immense fortune, to call himself a count (he was 
not one at all). He had iron mines in Siberia. 
For the rest, he was a charming and witty man. 
He, too, used to come and visit us in our dressing- 
rooms ; he was made much of because of his mines. 
He sent me by his secretary an insignificant little 
diadem, with wretched little diamonds here and 
there. 

" ^L le Comte begs you, mademoiselle, to accept 
this small remembrance as a homage to the artiste." 

There was nothing to be said. 

" Thank the count, monsieur, and tell him that, 



MEMOIRS 209 

as an artiste, I am flattered and grateful for this 
mark of his esteem." 

" He asks, mademoiselle, permission to pay you 
his respects ? " 

I receive the count in my dressing-room, so why 
should I refuse to receive him at home ? 

" He can come, monsieur." 

He did not wait long, the rich miser ! He came 
next day. 

" I very much appreciate your kind remem- 
brance, count." 

" I offer it to the artiste, and still more especially 
to the woman." 

" Ah, monsieur le comte, you spoil your present. 
As an artiste I should receive it ; as a woman, 
permit me to refuse it ! " 

I returned him liis little casket. He was very 
out of countenance. 

" Well, but can I not hope for a little return of 
the sentiments with which you inspire me ? " 

"You set about it very strangely. Do you 
never forget the shop, monsieur le comte ? That 
is poor policy. No, monsieur le comte, I haven't 
the least desire to reply to your noble sentiments. 
Take away your present. Look at it, examine it ; 
there is nothing missing there but good taste." 

He disappeared with his box. Some days after- 
wards the very tiny, modest diadem adorned the 
forehead of my pretty comrade B 

{There, dear, only you can turn these nothings 
to account.) 



210 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

I removed then to take some very beautiful 
apartments in the rue Louis-le-grand on the first 
floor. I left from there for Russia. Each time 
I pass along that street I am unable to stop 
from raising my head to the great balcony. I 
can still see the three shutters I had placed in 
the drawing-room. What recollections and what 
regrets at not having understood life such as it is, 
practical and commercial. The ideas of those days 
were not all money ; one did not torture the spirit 
by speculations. Let us not regret having passed 
a pleasanter life, of having only experienced the 
ainbition of an artiste and the feelings of a woman ; 
which, if they do not enrich you, they do not 
degrade you — they make you happy. These re- 
collections keep your emotions always young, and 
that is better than gold. 

I often saw Prince Metternich, the Austrian 
Ambassador to the Court of France. This famous 
diplomat was very gay and quite unconventional ; 
very simple, witty and ironical ; the great diplomat 
was fond of laughing. 

" I have a box for the Palais-Royal. Be kind 
and come there with me ; we will laugh." 

" I don't laugh so much as all that at such non- 
sense. I like Brunet's naivete every now and then ; 
but as for you, you like to pass all your evenings 
there. You must simply adore farces. When you 
come to our tragedies you must bore yourself to 
death ; acknowledge you come rather to talk in 
our dressing-rooms. As you are a serious man, I 



MEMOIRS 211 

have a strange opinion of you. My dear prince, 
sooner or later 1 think you will do us great harm." 

" Ah ! dear pretty one, you dabble in politics 
and would like to read into the future. Who can 
know what is reserved for us ? At the moment I 
am most kindly disposed ; if I change, you shall 
know about it, great diplomat ; it will not be my 
fault, but that of events." 

" Yes, you will be guided entirely by the interests 
of your country, without forgetting your own. My 
dear prince, you are too well acquainted with the 
caprices of fate to sacrifice yourself entirely, are 
you not ? " 

" Come, let us talk of Brunet ; that is much 
more pleasant." 

The charming Metternich used to speak in this 
strain, and the Emperor was wrong not to buy his 
support at Dresden. He did us all the harm I had 
predicted. 

( JVith }'egard to the ^natter, say xvliatever yo7i 
please, my dear.) 

He came to offer to take me a drive w4th him. 

" I appreciate your kindness, but you make me 
get into a detestable cabriolet, which you drive 
yourself, and which frightens me horribly. Those 
drives are very boring and I want no more of 
them. I prefer to talk : it is more amusing. 
When you take the reins of your nasty horse 
not a word is said. That is too German ! I 
enjoy myself much more at Raincy at Ouvrard's : 
there are jolly parties there. We go there with 



212 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Talma, Fleuiy, Armand. It is a magnificent 
place." 

" Ah ! so you visit the great financier ? " 

" Financier, if you like, who receives his friends 
like a great lord. Lately we spent three days, 
Miles. Devienne and Mars, and our three com- 
panions Talma, Fleury and Armand. The time 
passed quickly. How pretty the country is, and 
there are some charming open carriages, but drawn 
by two WTctched horses which resemble those of 
M. Demasine. That man is odd : he loves un- 
heard-of, striking contrasts. It is the magnificent 
chateau which Junot inhabited for a long time, 
where every luxury is displayed. There is a most 
delightful bath-room there, with an enormous 
basin completely of marble, where the water flows 
from all directions, like the baths in the Pyrenees. 
One can bathe in company with twenty or thirty 
persons at once. There are charming decorations : 
delightful paintings, ottomans, carpets — in fact 
nothing is lacking. This charming and distin- 
guished financier is a Lucullus. Delightful 
dwellings are scattered here and there on this 
magnificent estate. We always stay at the cottage, 
which is thatched outside, but inside is the last 
word in elegance and comfort. Then, to complete 
the contrast, there are two raw-boned horses ; just 
fancy ! " 

" Do you often go to this beautiful country- 
house ? " 

"■ As often as possible." 



MEMOIRS 213 

" Besides, M. Ouvrard is a delightful man with 
most distinguished manners. He is intelligent, 
shrewd, a man of few words, and self made. He 
was of a humble origin ; they say he was the son 
of a grocer. He does not boast much about 
it. I once said to him, ' There, dear Monsieur 
Ouvrard, you do things grandly, but you are a man 
without heart since you left off your blue apron. 
You had a heart then, though you wore it behind 
your back, and you have never put it back in the 
right place since.' 

"He laughed good-naturedly and was not the 
least offended at my pleasantry. But, dear prince, 
the truth is that he has not a heart at all, but a 
great deal of pride. In his person he is simple, 
yet elegant ; somewhat affected, and anxious for 
admiration, though he never appears so. He is 
always wonderfully well shod, and he is right ; 
his feet are very small. He is always dressed 
in knee-breeches, silk stockings, buttoned coat, 
waistcoat and white tie, and his linen is remark- 
able for its quality. He is a good-looking man. 
His eyes, perhaps, are small, but his mouth is 
very pretty, with superb teeth and a charming 
smile. Oh, he has had his love affairs and will 
have them yet. The beautiful Mme. Tallien was 
his slave for a long time, and a large progeny 
resulted fi*om this union, yet he deceived her, 
beautiful as she was. Poor dear Ouvrard was a 
Lovelace. He fluttered from flower to flower. 
He could be constant, but faithful never." 



214 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

(/ giiie you all these details. Ouin^ai^d is a man 
who has made a considerable mm^k ; he is worth 
speaking of.) 

"But, dear Mademoiselle George, it seems to me, 
from the way you speak, that you are likely to join 
the ranks." 

" No, I assure you ; not for the moment, at 
least. Besides, talk to Mars about it, she will 
tell the same tale. She will tell you that he is 
very charming and tliat one has to be on one's 
guard. At J^aris he had a mansion in the rue 
de Mont-Blanc. He used to tell us that he had 
a dining-room in which the table was worked by a 
spring. It came up ready served, disappearing and 
rising again with each course in turn, to avoid the 
presence of servants. You see that he understands 
how to do things in style. We did not see this 
fairy dwelling — he had sold it ; but we dined with 
him at his town-house in the boidevard de la 
Madeline, an immense mansion of whicli he only 
occupied one lioor, for the Comte de Kemusat had 
all the rest of the house, together with the garden. 
The entresol at Ouvrard's was scarcely furnished 
at all ; his wife, who was never seen, lived in 
another quarter. What a singular existence ! 
We were served there, as at Raincy, in true 
financier style. After dinner, his children came 
to play with my sister and Mile. Mars's daughter. 
He had a brother, an amiable, good-hearted youth. 
Our friend Florence used to come with us, and 
brightened up those dinners a little, which were 



MEMOIRS 215 

sometimes very monotonous. He spoke a great 
deal of the beautiful martyr, Marie Antoinette. 
He related a thousand deeds of her kindness, 
and, among others : One morning — the hour at 
which the Queen had her hair dressed and 
used to allow Florence, then manager of the 
Comedie-Fran9aise, to come and take his orders 
— the Queen was informed that a whole family 
in tears had come to throw themselves at her 
feet to ask a pardon for a father and a hus- 
band. The Queen rose at once, and all in her 
morning deshabille, and half-dressed hair, she sent 
for the sorrowing family, and without losing an 
instant obtained an entry to the King, and, 
throwing the family at the King's feet, she did 
likewise herself to demand pardon. She obtained 
it, returned with her eyes still wet with tears, and 
happy as a queen. A noble woman so slandered, 
with a noble mother's heart, which was so bruised, 
and such a courageous woman in that which was 
most sacred in her motherly love. They say that 
during her long and infamous imprisonment she 
was continually consulting the cards to find out 
whether her captors would be cruel enough to 
execute her. The hideous result was always in 
the affirmative. One gets superstitious in misfor- 
tune. Ah, what sufferings that adorable woman 
endured ! " 

We were very moved at this tale. It was 
certainly very fine and sublime to see the great 
Queen going to the King with such disordered 



216 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

toilette. What abandonment of herself to do a 
fine action. Enough of this topic, Florence, we 
do not want to weep any more. How did you 
bring about the success of the Misanthrope ? You 
gained your spurs as a clever man by this triumph. 
Come now, tell us all about it. 

" Well, the first performance had doubtless pro- 
duced a great effect, but the receipts were unsatis- 
factory. Something had to be done. The second 
performance was also rather tame, and we were 
relying on tremendous receipts. At the third 
performance I gave boxes to various gay ladies, 
who were pretty but possessed no finery. To 
these I sent gowns, hats and enormous bou- 
quets on condition that they should burst into 
tears, while some even received orders to faint. 
What was said was done. The play had to be 
interrupted several times, the unfortunate ladies 
were carried into the lounge, doctors were called, 
and so forth. The trick was resorted to on three 
or four occasions and the success was tremendous. 
It certainly cost the company a good sum, but the 
result was fabulous." 

" Florence, you are a great man. To Florence's 
health ! " 

" And Lekain, our admirable Lekain, Florence ? " 
" Ah ! yes, admirable ! Not like Talma ! " 
" Come, my dear fellow. Beside Talma your 
Lekain would have been a trumpery numskull." 

Then Florence took off his peruke, crushed it 
beneath his feet, and posed before us all to imitate 



MEMOIRS 217 

Lekain, who, as a matter of fact, was a great artiste. 
It seems that in all lovers' parts he was sublime ; 
no one could speak like him to a woman ; as 
Tancrede, Orosmane, \^end6me in DugucscUn {is 
it Vendonte, Fahnore ? I dont remeinher), he was 
marvellous. He was fat, but passion improved his 
appearance to such an extent that the women 
were mad about him. Fleury was a great partisan 
of Lekain. 

" Certainly, gentlemen, he was a lover ; he shed 
beautiful tears in Orosmane, most certainly, but 
there, love is common. With us it is ordinary, 
but the fatality placed on Talma's forehead, the 
remorse, the deep melancholy, the delirium which 
makes us all tremble ! All those palpitating 
emotions, don't you believe they are greater than 
your little love insipidities. Who is not a lover ? 
The crown of laurels to Talma, the crown of 
myrtle and roses to Lekain." 

After Florence's furies, a true parody of the fury 
of Orestes, there was much laughter, and I took 
him back in my carriage to tease him again. I 
was very fond of Florence. He had wit, and 
had seen so much that he had always something 
to tell you of his amours with the famous Sophie 
Arnould ; stories we listened to with laughter, 
which we took care to tell again — my poor 
Florence ! 

1 do what I can to distract myself, still, I bore 
myself horribly ; even the theatre has no longer 
the same attraction for me. As a matter of fact. 



218 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

it is a monotonous life. We always play the same 
thing, there are no new works except les TempUei's, 
which makes plenty of money, but which amuses 
me very little. The Queen is a very bad part 
which has not moved me in the least. What are 
we to do ? 

"See, old Florence, I am burning with desire to 
leave Paris ; I am stifled here." 

" Leave the Theatre-Franc^ais ? Do you really 
think of doing so ? You would lose both yoin- 
pension and your glory, which can only be acquired 
at the Theatre-Fran^ais. Come, it is the thought 
of a madwoman. Vou would lose all your pro- 
fessional chances, and you would leave something 
else besides the Theiitre-Fran^'ais." 

" That is exactly why I wish to leave and why I 
shall leave." 

" What ! Are you no longer happy as well ? " 

" Do not ask any questions. T am tired of the 
void in my life, that is all." 

" To any one as beautiful as you are, surrounded 
by everything that is distinguished in ]^aris, every 
distraction is offered." 

" My dear Florence, there is a certain exalted 
affection which cannot be replaced. Another 
might be put in its place, but it would be distaste- 
ful to me, and it would seem to me an unworthy 
act. Foreign air, distance, that is what 1 need and 
what I want. Still, we have not reached that point 
yet, let us talk of something else. 

'* 1 dined at Mile. Contat's two days ago, 



MEMOIRS 219 

with Mme. Gay. She is an amiable and witty 
woman, but. Heavens ! how tired she ought to 
be ! She talks well, but she talks without ceasing. 
Mile. Contat is very agreeable in her own home, 
but in spite of everything there is always that 
charming impertinence of which she has made such 
an agreeable habit. M. de Parny is a gentleman 
who is placed, doubtless through his attachment, 
in a peculiar position. He could easily be taken, 
in spite of liis excellent aristocratic manners, more 
often for the housekeeper than the future husband 
of the great artiste. Being very ignorant of their 
private life, 1 was quite uncomfortable when Mile. 
Contat said to him, ' J^lease ring, my dear, for 
coffee,' and a thousand other insignificant details 
— details to others, doubtless, accustomed to the 
house, but very strange to me. Mile. Contat has 
much wit, but confess, Florence, that she is want- 
ing in tact. One can't have everything. What 
a miserable pavilion she lives in ! A wretched 
dining-room, no drawing-room, and a bedroom 
where she receives. It is frightful ! Why does 
she lodge there, Florence?" 

" The pavilion touches the Odeon. It is deadly 
gloomy, but she gets it from the Government. 
There are many artistes who are lodged for nothing, 
and quite the great lady though Mile. Contat is, 
she accepted the pavilion." 

" Isn't Mile. Contat rich ? Still, my dear fellow, 
she has a carriage ? " 

"Yes; she lodges for nothing, so as not to give it up." 



220 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" She is not rich. No more is Talma, and Mars 
has nothing. You see your Paris is poverty for 
artistes. Quick : fresh air I Tell me, Florence, I 
brought back in my carriage M. de Maupant, 
Mile. Contat's son. He is a good young man 
and very attached to Mars ; he should marry her." 

" But his name, my dear ? " 

" His name ! Away with you ! His name, do 
you say ? That of Mars will help him. That is 
another of those prejudices which are dying. In 
England, you see, even great lords marry actresses, 
and actors like Garrick are buried in the tombs of 
kings. Talma, we would not like to bury you, 
honour and glory of our stage ! Ah ! atrocious 
prejudices, which dishonour what is beautiful and 
great. Say, Florence, will you come to England ? 
I will take you." 

{My good friend, dont erase that which touches 
on the prejudices ; we artistes want a little lifting 
up. You will feel that more than any one, and 
Vcdniore, too.) 

" Ah ! it is you. Talma ; you see me blushing 
for my profession ! I was speaking of the preju- 
dices which only affect us. We are dishonoured, 
but still, are we of less account than other people ? 
Are we bad parents ? No, certainly not ; it is rare 
to find bad hearts in our set ! What wounds us 
women, far more than you men, is to hear it 
said, ' A li ! well, she is an actress with whom such 
and such a count is in love ; it won't last ! ' 
Keally, Talma, that opinion must have hindered 



MEMOIRS 221 

many poor creatures from entering the good way. 
AVhat is the good when it is not expected of them ? 
As for the dancers, that is another thing ! It has 
been said, the ladies of the Theatre- Fran(,;ais and 
the misses of the opera. We ought to be flattered 
by this distinction. Were you at Charmeroy's 
funeral ? She was said to be a charming dancer, 
though I didn't know her ; I hadn't yet made my 
debut, and I am not well grounded in that period, 
so I can be mistaken. She died from consumption. 
They would not receive her at the church of les 
Filles-Saint-Tliomas (where the Exchange is now). 
Vestris, who was her comrade and particular friend, 
was in such a rage he started all over again, 
followed by an immense crowd which accompanied 
the mortal remains of the poor woman. The 
coffin was taken again and replaced. AVasn't that 
a shameful sight ? England is better than we are, 
Talma. Let us leave for England. If you die, 
perhaps you will be placed beside Garrick. It is 
all the same, my friend, for you are certain of 
your deserts, since you will have no successor, and 
if it is said, ' The king is dead, long live the king ! ' 
it could not be said, ' Talma is dead, long Uve 
Talma ! ' Talma is dead, tragedy is dead ! That 
is glorious. Talma ! " 

" Your head is in the air, Georgina. AVhat an 
exaltation you are in ! " 

" Well, doesn't it affect you at all ? See, you are 
only terrible on the stage ; you haven't the least 
character." 



222 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" But, my hohonne " — that is the name Tahna 
gave me — " what am I to say to that ? Heavens ! 
nothing." 

" Ah ! Florence, was Lekain as cahn as Tahna ? 
Must actors have the foothghts to be men ? " 

" No, my dear, but they use up their nerves by 
tragic emotions, and love domestic repose." 

" There, you are nothing but disguised burgesses." 

" Hohonne^ you are very bad-tempered." 

" No ; I am sad and discontented with everything. 
1 can't keep on my chair. Talma, I want post- 
horses." 

" Florence, you listen to her. She will be up to 
some mischief, some piece of folly ; and she has no 
sense at all. At any rate, don't take me into 
your confidence ; I should denounce you. You 
haven't the least common-sense." 

*' That is possible. But I don't require the foot- 
lights to have strength and will." 

'* Say self-love, child. You are wounded to the 
heart, and meditate a woman-like revenge. You 
are too young to know that you can't be avenged 
in your position. AVeep, rage, smash the china, if 
you like ; we should like it very much ; we prefer 
you like that. But otherwise a barrier has been 
placed." 

" It is true, but it is horrible ! After all, dear 
friend, I have nothing to avenge myself. Of what ? 
Of my — my rather less frequent interviews ? INIon 
Dieu ! I had to expect it ; but is the heart always 
prudent, especially at my age ? Alas ! one believes 



MEMOIRS 223 

that everything is lasting ; one is a proper fool. 
Still, one is happy for some moments, more or 
less ; a first love decides all our existence. If 
your young impressions experience deception, the 
whole of your life is nothing more than a distrust 
of happiness. Once smitten, one is quite cold at 
heart. It is deserved. Why have I been mad 
enough to love him whom I ought only to 
admire ? " 

"• Ah ! Georgina, how you do bore us ! " 

" I think so too ; I bore myself I seem to 
have pretensions of becoming a philosopher. How 
stupid I am, dear friends ! I give myself all the 
trouble in the world only to be ridiculous, and to 
pass off a wit which I do not possess. Let us 
spend the time talking ' shop ' ; it is more amusing, 
and I like it. 

" Florence, do you know that Mile. Contat pre- 
fers Caumont to Grandmesnil in les Financiers ? " 

" Why is that ? " 

" Caumont is more fluent, and easy. Then 
Grandmesnil has a squeaky voice, which attacks 
Contat's nerves." 

" Still, he is quite perfect in FAvare, les Femmes 
Savantes, etc." 

" Yes, but she thinks him too clever ; he analyses 
too much. ' The nerve-shattering fellow,' she said, 
* wants to know more about it than the ignorant 
Moliere. Plenty of wit ? Far too much of it. 
The good Caumont suits me better.'" 



SECOND PART 

LOOSE LEAVES 

To Monsieur and Madame Desbordes-Vahnorc 

Deae good friends, here is a mass of letters which 
I confide to your friendship, and still more to your 
indulgence. 

I count on Valmore's friendly patience to decipher 
all this nonsense, and on the heart and wit of Mme. 

D Valmore to enliven them. That is my 

hope, and hope gives life. 

The journal which you will find, and the details 
about my birth, are quite nice. 

Still you must think me very brazen to send you 
all this nonsense. 

I have neither style nor orthography (which is a 
question of education). 

My love and greetings to all three of you. 

April 1 1 . 

Madame Dugazon held me in such affection that 
she wanted at all costs to take me away with her ; 
but my father, of course, did not wish to be 
separated from his idol. 

After her came Mol^ with the same proposal, 

224 



LOOSE LEAVES 225 

and the same refusal. Monvel made me play 
Muet, from the VAbbe de VEpee ; he did every- 
thing to get me to leave Amiens. It was a 
monomania to take away poor little Mimi. One 
can't escape one's destiny ; one has to yield to it. 
All these attempts affected me very little ; in fact, 
they didn't interest me at all. I wanted to play 
the great parts in opera, and I did not budge from 
that. My ambition soared very high. I wanted a 
beautiful spangled dress, like I had seen the best 
singers wear. I wanted the great parts because I 
liked clap-trap. " Oh, how I should have hked to 
play Laura in Bluebeard, just for the sake of being 
dragged along by my hair. ..." Once my dear 
mother caught me [after rehearsing this part]. 
She said — 

" Good gracious ! Where have you been to get 
your hair in that state ? " 

" I have just been playing Bluebeard^ 

I adored Paulet Virginie because I had dramatic 
scenes in it. I was thrown to left and right, when 
at last the lightning (composed of two or three 
crackers) destroyed the little ship in which I stood 
in a chemise and quite dishevelled, and Paul car- 
ried me away expiring and dripping. Life was 
restored to me. I threw myself into my mother's 
arms, not forgetting my saviour, and the curtain 
fell amidst general delight. 

{Here is a little rather uninteresting anecdote which 
perhaps yon will find room for.) 

We had to play Andromaque at Saint-Cloud. 



22G A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" How are you going, Talma ? Come with me, I 
will take you." 

" My dear friend, your carriage is too small to 
take our lot. Will you come in mine ? " 

" In your wretched chariot, with your two old 
white horses — your noble fathers, as you call them ? 
A nice equipage in which to play prince and 
princess." 

" My horses are very good ; we will go quickly, 
you may be sure." 

" Fetch your noble fathers, then ! But don't 
dawdle. Talma. I want to dine at Saint- Cloud, and 
if you are not at my door within two hours you 
won't find me." 

Talma was punctual. We went to dine at 
Legriel's, and afterwards prepared for the per- 
formance. The heat was oppressive. We were 
ready before eight o'clock, and did not begin till 
nine. 

During the first act I noticed some bats flying 
about behind the scenes. 

" Bourgoin, have you seen those wretched animals 
on the stage ? " 

" No." 

" Heavens ! I have a mortal dread of them, and 
1 shall save myself in spite of my respect for our 
august spectators." 

Behold me on the stage, still a little preoccupied 
with the appearance of those animals. In my scene 
with Orestes, an enormous beast passed under my 
nose. Good-bye, Hermione ! Good-bye, respect ! 



LOOSE LEAVES 227 

I shrieked and fled. The Consul and the whole 
house laughed. Talma brought me back. 

" Come, you are mad." 

*' I am not mad ; I am afraid." 

However, I took my courage in both hands 
and bowed to the Consul and his gracious wife, to 
make them see how 1 apologised. I went on 
playing, or rather I did not, so much were my eyes 
fixed on the spot where that wretched beast was in 
evidence. But it changed its direction and actually 
went to tease our beautiful Josephine, who was 
amused at my fear. She repulsed the beast with 
her fan, and all the ladies of honour did the same. 
No more tragedy was possible. The Consul was 
convulsed for several minutes. The lackeys started 
in pursuit of the horrible beast, which finally dis- 
appeared. Peace returned with its departure, and 
we made every effort to have the misadventure 
forgotten, which in the first place was caused by 
me. We had a great success, and M. de Remusat 
came to compliment us on behalf of the Consul and 
Josephine. 

v^N THE Emperor's Taste for Tragedy 

The bulletin ! It didn't matter if it was in the 
middle of a scene, there were loud cries demand- 
ing that it should be read. The commissioner 
of the police arrived at the theatre, with his 
sash at his belt and carrying two candles. It 
was read in the midst of an emotion, a patriotic 
outburst and enthusiasm, which one could not 



228 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

have believed if one had not been a witness. And 
when the Emperor, after one of his great victories, 
was present at a performance of Corneille, children, 
young people and old, broke into a cannonade 
of applause. But he was always so simple, bow- 
ing with such a charming smile, as he sat down 
and listened with reflective attention to the master- 
piece he had commanded. China was his favourite 
work. 



My Departure for St. Petersburg 

Why have I departed ? Why have I left 
Paris and the Theatre-Fran^ais ? Do I know ? 
No, I do not. This departure, this whim, has 
come about through a meeting with Count Tolstoy, 
the Russian Ambassador. For some time 1 did 
not see the Emperor— doubtless through my 
own fault ! Yes, very certainly through my own 
fault ! I was bored, I had debts, and I did not 
want to ask for anything and made all sorts of 
excuses for myself; but the truest excuse was 
that I wanted a change of air, of foreign air. Ah ! 
how mad a young artiste is ! To be disinterested — 
what stupidity I One cannot change one's nature, 
and mine was such. Money ! what is the good 
of it ? I prefer success. It was stupid ! Finally 
the Ambassador, who often paid me a visit, spoke 
a great deal to me of Russia and the Emperor 
Alexander. One of his aides-de-camp. Count 
Beckendorf, engaged me on his behalf to set out. 



LOOSE LEAVES 229 

1 said "yes," and the next day "no." It was at 
a bal masque that the affair was concluded. Count 
Tolstoy only left me when 1 gave him my word of 
honour to sign in the morning. That same night 
I met young TchernichefF. People came to tell 
me of his little intrigues. I amused myself then 
with his intrigues for a few moments. At this 
time he was very naive. He said to me, " Don't 
speak to me. I have a woman in tow who adores 
me and is very jealous." 

" Heavens ! jealous already, and you have only 
been here two days ! I shall only believe you 
if you tell me the name of the woman ; of course 
she is Italian ? " 

" No, she is not an Itahan ; she is Mile. George ! " 

A burst of laughter disconcerts my presumptuous 
Russian. I did not guess at that time that this 
innocent would do so much harm to France in 
betraying the plans of campaign. An infamy ! 

Next day I signed. I had a friend who sold 
me a passport for a hundred louis — a friend could 
not do less. I made all my preparations in the 
utmost secrecy. Florence, and my poor dear 
Talma, were the only ones in my confidence. 
I had a very ungrateful heart, and left my father 
whom I adored, my young sister and brother, 
and my sick mother. Youth is truly selfish : I left 
everything I loved, and why ? My mother, whom 
I should never see again, was ill ; if I had been 
able to think I should have remained without 
hesitation : one never wishes to believe in eternal 



230 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

separation. Then I was never told of my mother's 
danger ; I always thought that eveiything reached 
me. The first misfortune was waiting for me: 
my mother dead at forty- three ! At this news 
all my youth disappeared ! I have experienced 
nothing but disappointment and remorse. 

I am anticipating, and I am allowing myself 
to ramble. That is my life, my character and 
my nature. 

Everything was ready. T was about to leave, 
and I took with me what I fancied. I had just 
created Mandane in Debrieu's Artaxerxes. I 
played it three times, and set out on May 7, 1808. 
I embraced my mother without saying good-bye to 
her, and at noon I was in the cab to join at 
the first stage the caUche which was waiting 
for me. I did not rest a minute till Strasburg, 
hoping to arrive there in good time to cross the 
Rhine. Unfortunately it was too late, and we 
were forced to sleep in Strasburg. I was all 
anxiety at the opening of doors, which we listened 
for impatiently. We crossed the bridge ... we 
were on foreign soil. A little later on I should 
have been brought back to Paris : the telegraph 
would have played its part! 

On arriving in Vienna I was at once summoned 
to Princess Bagratian's, a young, pretty, witty 
woman, filled with that charming grace which 
places you at your ease at once. I found there 
all the high aristocracy of Vienna : the Prince 
de Ligne, with the distinction and grand airs of 



LOOSE LEAVES 231 

his high birth, but without pride, and Cobentzel, 
who is quite well known. 

I was with the princess when I heard a woman's 
voice crying, " Where is she ? I want to see 
her." 

" Heavens ! " I said to the princess, " who is she, 
then ? " 

I always thought that they were coming to 
take me back to Paris. I hid behind a screen, 
and she began to laugh. 

" Calm yourself, my dear ; it is Mme. de Stael." 

Mme. de Stael was very enthusiastic and very 
noisy. I passed some time with her and was 
loaded with compliments which I shall certainly 
not repeat, but said by such a charming and witty 
woman they were very gratifying. You find your- 
self more than flattered by the praises she throws at 
you, doubtless with exaggeration, but at any rate 
you receive them, and at bottom you are put at 
your ease by them. 

I remained in Vienna eight days in the midst 
of that great world and that great ease, which 
gives so much charm to really good manners, when 
at last the French Ambassador sent me word 
that it was time to place myself en route again. 

Vienna 

Ihives — The magnificent Prater — Descjiption to 
be made of the town : small, narrow st?^eets, lofty 
houses — Superb St. Joseplistadt — Entry thi'ough the 



232 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

lanes — Beautiful houses, narr^ow streets — Black 
Town — Make some researches thereon. 

lletilly great lords arc a type it is impossible 
to imitate. They have such a perfect tone with 
them, so much easiness and grace without side ; 
they can never be mistaken. Watch men and 
women entering a drawing-room, liy the way in 
which they enter and approach you you are im- 
pressed. On that side the true nobility, on the other 
the parvenus. But still there are the same sur- 
roundings and the same taste. Well, no ; all that 
is subordinated and used in a way which indicates 
the habit of luxury. 

{You ivill have to say something chaj^ming.) 
I left Vienna with regret ; Princess Bagratian 
was so charming and her conversation so witty. I 
thought I should never meet such a person again. 
This time I left with a German servant who spoke 
French. Heavens ! before reaching Vienna what 
amusing and exasperating scenes there were I Know- 
ing no German it was only possible to live by signs ; 
if you wanted an egg you were obliged to imitate 
a fowl ; some milk, a cow, and to make the gestures 
of a woman who is patting butter. And for meat ? 
My imcle was charged with the duty of imitating 
an ox, or a sheep. I laughed till I was ill I And 
to pay we held out our hands filled with ducats : 
they could take as inany of them as they wanted. 
And they wanted very much ! Post travelling is a 
mockery. It was quite useless for me to say to the 
postilions, " Quicker, 1 am in a hurry." I used to 



LOOSE LEAVES 233 

make signs to them that I was hungry or was 
indisposed. But it was no good ; just a gentle 
trot, and no more and no less. Ah, the obstinate 
wretches, 1 could have beaten them I 

At this time the inns were detestable. My poor 
Paris, how I regretted you, and how I cursed the 
Ambassador ! But still we were travelling in a 
magnificent country. 

{Speak about Grerniany and give some nice desciip- 
tions of that beautiful counti^y.) 

We arrived in Poland at Vilna. My arrival was 
known. The governor paid me a visit and begged 
me to dine with him the next day. He held a re- 
ception, and there was a large gathering of charm- 
ing women. Polish women are so gracious ! 1 had 
to recite some verses, and their politeness accorded 
me a great success. I'heir thanks would have been 
quite enough for my complacency ; but they sur- 
rounded me with a thousand attentions and fussings, 
and gave me unheard-of praises. I took it all as I 
should. Quite tired, I had accepted that invitation, 
and they had thanked me for it. In spite of their 
polite enthusiasm I was very glad to return to my 
hotel, to get some hours of repose there, and start 
ofi* again. I was in a hurry to reach St, Petersburg. 

{Speak here of Filna.) 

St. Petersburg 

Reception at the Grand Duchess Catharine's, 
sister of tlie Emperor Alexander, and married to 
the Duke of Oldenburg. 



234 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Fete at Count StrogonofF's, a charming old man, 
very fond of artistes and manifesting his enthusiasm 
by bursts of laughter. Amelie, the Empress's 
sister, was present at the fete and crowned me her- 
self. Next day I received from Count Strogonoff 
a strmg of fine pearls, attached to a crown offered 
to Melpomene — George. 

The Prince of Wtirtemberg, brother of the 
Dowager-Empress, presented himself as his own 
valet, and begged me to accept a ring of magnifi- 
cent diamonds and a purse like a collection-bag in 
red velvet, filled with louis. 

Departure from St. Petersburg 

January 28, 1813. Finland — Viborg. 

After all these disasters, I would not have re- 
mained away from my dear country for anything 
in the world. In spite of the most brilliant offers, 
nothing could keep me. I lost my pension-— that 
was too small a consideration to keep me one day 
more. I was wrong. I suffered so much during 
the time of the war. I ought to say, however, in 
the midst of the disaster which must have delighted 
the Russians, I was treated with really unheard-of 
indulgence. The French were obliged to illuminate 
when the Russian army returned with its climatic 
victory. I, who Hved on the most frequented pro- 
menade, shut everything up to make my window 
as black and sad as my poor heart. It was re- 
ported to the Emperor, who had the generosity, 



LOOSE LEAVES 235 

far from making a crime of it, to reply, " She is a 
good Frenchwoman. Let her do it ; I will not 
have her visit Siberia for that." We set off then : 
I say "we." I wished to pass through Sweden 
and stop at Stockholm, and was followed by a part 
of the company, Duparcy, Varenne, Vedel, Main- 
vielle and his wife, etc. What a journey ! We had 
two poor, thin beasts, who had the greatest difficulty 
to drag us. You pass two or three hours in this 
comfortable position, then, to give you a chance of 
recovery, you arrive and find there is nothing to 
eat or drink. Then we had to take to a little 
sledge, only on wheels. I always set out with 
my sister and a little postilion of eight or ten 
years. We left in the presence of every one, as 
usual. We were so brave ; but at the sound of 
some gun-shots in the midst of granite rocks which 
were really admirable : immense rocks on each side 
to an enormous height {to you, dear Vahnore, the 
desaiption), we saw some nice wolves issue, mani- 
festing the amiable intention of coming to greet us. 
Ah ! this time fear gains the mastery over us. We 
cry to the postilion, " Return ! " Bah ! he keeps 
on ! My sister catches hold of the obstinate little 
brute's belt. She jumps down and struggles with 
the little fellow. 

We had to travel, when the ice still existed, in 
the little, very low sledges, which held two with 
difficulty. Sometimes we made two leagues on the 
ice. We could see the water running beneath the 
ice, it was so clear. 1 was always with my sister. 



236 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

We braved the dangers {and they were gi^eat, I beg 
you to believe, dear readei's) amidst the shouts of 
laughter which made our company indignant. We 
burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter when we 
looked at each other. We were dressed so funnily, 
with large woollen boots, fur caps, and dresses 
padded to such an extent that we looked as if we 
were tied up like large Bayonne sausages, and for 
our convenience we always had with us the tre- 
mendous bag in which I had put all my jewels and 
my money. 

I had fixed that bag on my sister's arm. She 
could never separate herself from it and, as she was 
and is much smaller than I am, she was really 
grotesque. Looking at her I had to die with 
laughter, and she, in her fury, threatened to throw 
the bag on the road if I continued! Ah, those 
happy times of joy, and youth, and absence from 
care ! How you are regretted and how quickly 
you pass away ! And then to say that all is over 
and that they can never return ! 

{All that is very badly expressed and arranged.) 

But when everjrthing is reckoned, we do not live 
ten years of that beautiful existence which is called 
youth. How very sad! The women will agree 
with me. If they do not say so they are not truth- 
ful. What woman is there, even the wisest, who 
does not regret the homages which were paid her, 
even without encouragement ? Let us pass on. 

At every relay there was a change of carriages. 
You arrive and it is raining; it pours faster and 



LOOSE LEAVES 237 

faster, an equipage is fetched for you, an atrocious 
charrette; two or three mattresses are placed inside. 
You spread them in the open for it to rain on them, 
for the wind to blow, for it tc snow — it doesn't 
matter. My sister fell on to the road into the 
mire, with her big bag and her big boots, but I was 
unable to help her, but my laughter was enough to 
remove the danger. Happily, our caravan arrived 
at full gallop, armed with guns to face the danger 
from wolves. 

ROCHER DE ChINCKEBER 

Only three houses. We were put into a large 
square room higgledy-piggledy. Ah, what a 
horror ! I shall never stay there. I discovered 
a cabinet in the frightful room, and obtained per- 
mission, on paying plenty of money — indispensable 
passport — to settle myself there with my father and 
sister. JNIy bed was made on a gi'eat plank, and there 
I was installed with all my little toilette utensils, 
which never left me. I made good use of all my 
perfumes, I assure you. My father slept on the 
ground. We discovered a small hut, where we 
had our meals. We had bought some provisions 
in Finland. Two days afterwards a lady who 
occupied a cabinet rather like mine, but much 
more comfortable, as it was lit by a window, and 
had a good chair and a bed, left for St, Petersburg. 
Money opened the door of this enchanted palace, 
and we were settled in at last. 

My comrades slept on the ground. In that 



238 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

frightful room there was a woman with us, who was 
very ridiculous and small, and much younger than 
her husband. Duparcy, who was always comical 
with his sang-froid, amused himself with all that. 
This little Mme. Bonacine was very greedy and dis- 
trustful. Duparcy led her to believe that we were 
not quite safe ; so she passed her nights in count- 
ing her money, to the amusement of every one. 
Duparcy used to say to her, " ISIy dear Bonacine, 
have you counted up ? See you count well ; I 
mistrust all these half-savages." 

I used to go to sleep very late, according to my 
custom. I had some cards, and told fortunes. The 
weather did not permit us to cross the gulf. To- 
morrow we always waited for. The provisions 
were diminishing. I was very eager to get on the 
way again, to pass through Lapland and see 
Tornea. The capital is curious. I was completely 
decided when I saw the Count de Lowers enter, 
who had just passed the gulf to return to St. 
Petersburg. He came and consoled me, first by 
giving and then by fetching some victuals ; there 
was a great scarcity of food. 

Duparcy, who was very good at cooking, had 
the frightful thought of cooking a dog in the 
ragout. The dish was voted excellent, but we 
did not take our share. I would sooner have 
remained on the rock. Tliey should have buried 
me as they could, not as poetically as Chateau- 
briand in the middle of the ocean, but in a modest 
corner with a little earth and a wooden cross. Our 



LOOSE LEAVES 239 

excellent Count de Lowers, who constituted himself 
my adviser, came to bring me the hope that without 
doubt we could leave on the morrow. The next 
day, however, the weather did not seem so favour- 
able. Some wished to make the attempt. Vedel, for 

example, Charles, JNIlle. X . They embarked, 

and we were very disturbed when at nightfall 
we saw our unhappy companions return worn out 
with fatigue and fright. Charles, to give himself 
courage (and to impart it to the others, he said), had 
indulged a little in brandy. He had fallen into 
the water between two blocks of ice, whence they 
had all the trouble in the world to extract him. 
In the midst of the terror and of the danger which 
kept heaping up we could not prevent ourselves 
roaring with laughter on seeing them wrapped up 
in such a grotesque manner. Charles especially, 
carried by two sailors, dripping wet and drenched 
and swollen, looked as if he had been stuffed. 
Nevertheless it was very sad, and I began to worry. 
At daybreak we rose to see if the weather would at 
last permit us to quit this terrible abode. The 
longed-for day arrived. Just after daybreak we 
were told that the boats were ready. The best 
and largest was selected for me out of courtesy. 
On entering that perilous abode my father embraced 
us both. '*Now, my children, God keep us." 

It was really a beautiful sight ; in the midst of an 
imminent danger we were so glad to have left our 
rock that we all of us sang at frequent intervals. 
Hooks had to be used to push aside the blocks of 



240 A FAVOURITE OF T^APOLEON 

ice which encumbered our passage, sometimes at 
intervals and then continuously. The men who 
brought us had long faces, I beg you to believe. 
The rain which fell on us, for we were quite 
unprotected, added to the general discomfort. At 
last we reached the land ! All of us began to thank 
God. We knew the danger we had just run 
through in looking back. What ! we have just 
passed that gulf covered with ice ! We have been 
able to free that space and pass across and have not 
been crushed. Ah, thanks, my God ; thanks be 
rendered to Thee ! 

Bah ! twenty minutes afterwards we think no 
more about it ! We crossed to a pretty little town. 
There was quite a clean inn with little white dimity 
beds which charmed us. Quick to our toilette in 
these charming rooms, and then let us sup. 
( The name of this first town must be looked up.) 
Now where are we to lodge ? Francois runs and 
keeps us waiting in our carriage at each door where 
he supposes a lodging could be found. I was 
ashamed, I confess. We stopped before a house 
where Mme. de Stael was staying, who, seeing from 
her window all the carriages, had the politeness to 
recognise me (to recognise me in that costume ! ). 
She makes M. de Rocca come down quickly, and beg 
me to come up. 1 decided to, and INIme. de Stael, 
all amiability, waits on me and runs through all her 
house to find me quarters. The others waited in 
the road, and excited the curiosity of the passers-by. 
Rooms were found at last. INIy father and my 



LOOSE LEAVES 241 

sister tell me that they are rather good. Rather 
good ! All the apartments are frightful. Mme. de 
Stael brought me in her carriage, accompanied by 
M. de Rocca and her charming daughter Albertine. 

At Chiwekle, on the pretty rock, two German 
travellers were waiting like us, and made the cross- 
ing in our company to this first httle Swedish 
town, which seemed a Paris to me {the name of 
which must be looked up). 

They were very useful to us in procuring what 
we were in need of, and we invited them to supper. 
One of these brave Germans began to sing with his 
mouth full — 

" Quon est heicretix de trouver en voyage, 
Un hon souper et surloul un hon lit !" 

That, by the way, was true and appropriate, but 
he sang in such a comical way that we could not 
contain our hilarity. It was not very polite, I 
agree ; the poor singer was a little disconcerted. 
However, that did not hinder him from helping us 
to resume our journey, after the two days' rest we 
took in this town. 

Here we are in Sweden ! Still more impossible 
to make ourselves understood. Where could we 
get some provisions? We had one German servant 
whom I had brought with me, rran9ois, who spoke 
a little Swedish. He went on the search, and from 
time to time discovered country houses. Their 
masters pressed me to pay a visit, but there was 
not a word of French spoken. 



242 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

When Francois was not there we could do 
nothmg at all. These gentlemen brought us eggs, 
grouse, bread and wme. Ah, bread is a feast in that 
country ! Their bread is made of shavings. The 
loaves, which are made in the shape of a crown, are 
usually passed through a sort of pole hanging from 
the ceiling (how toothsome they must be ! ) ; and 
for a light they use resin applied to a torch, which 
is hung on the wall. How gay! At that time 
all such things were very wretched, mean and 
cheerless. 

( The names of the towns through which we had to 
pass befo7'e reacJdng Stockholm must be looked tip.) 

As we drew nearer resources came to us — at 
least, what was necessary was to be found. We 
travelled every night by starlight, in such haste 
were we to deliver ourselves from that incessant 
torture. We got down at the last town which 
preceded Stockholm. We tried to make ourselves 
less ugly ; it is no use to deny it, we looked fright- 
ful with our bonnets trimmed with swansdown, 
which were filled with mud. Ah, we made pretty 
Parisiennes ! From this town to Stockholm we at 
last began to meet people : peasants coming and 
going, their carts filled with provisions they were 
taking to market. Life was beginning again. At 
last we are in the capital ! Heavens ! what a turn- 
out ! In our open carts we looked like a herd 
of oxen coming from Pontoise ! Everybody looked 
at us. " Eh ! what ! Is that the Demoiselle George 
and her troupe in such a state ? " No one thought 



LOOSE LEAVES 243 

of taking out our thin beasts. At that time to 
drag a carriage in triumph was never thought of, 
or, to speak more correctly, we did not arrange 
for it — ovations cost too dear ! 

We got apartments on the first floor in a good 
street. The houses are nearly all black through 
the use of granite. There was a bedroom, a kind 
of bed-sitting-room for my sister, and one for Mile. 
Ursule(?), who had travelled with the Varennes 
family, and who had attached herself to us and 
served us for friendship. A clever woman with a 
charming character. Poor woman ! 

Francois, my footman, who was quite good in the 
kitchen, served as cook and footman. What was 
necessary for the table was provided, a servant was 
procured, and here we are installed. That same 
evening, Prince Bernadotte sent his first aide-de- 
camp, M. Camps, who came on behalf of the prince 
to place a carriage at my disposal, saying, " Do 
not disturb yourself. Everything is let for the 
eight performances which have been announced, 
even the pit. The box office will not be opened." 

I sent for the artistes who had accompanied me. 
I gave them half the receipts, and the other 
half to myself, reserving for myself a whole 
performance for my benefit. Everything was 
concluded to the satisfaction of everybody, and 
the parts were distributed, etc. 

French plays were a great event for the in- 
habitants, who were delightfully hospitable and 
charming. Before the tragedy we began with a 



244 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

comedy, which made a complete performance. As 
an artiste, I was sought out by all the first families. 
I shall not become the least vain about it ; curiosity 
existed, and that was all. I refused a good many 
of these invitations : I have never had a taste for 
those brilliant gatherings where you appear to go 
on show. 

Without doubt it is flattering to be admitted 
into high society when it has the good taste to 
receive you for yourself, without begging you to 
pay for your welcome by the recitation of a scene, 
and then, perhaps, two or three more. Thanks ! I 
have paid quite well for your kind reception. 

The Ministers came and visited me. I put off 
all their invitations after my first performances. 
I gained time, which I wanted. All my visits 
I returned immediately, and met some charming 
families. Everywhere the receptions were full of 
charm ; but with what happiness I returned to 
my own circle. No more discomfort ! No more 
dressing up, which I have always detested. Gaiety 
was re-established. Visitors three-quarters of the 
time were present at my dinner : the Count Ostoya, 
Count Spar, and M. Camps. 

As for Mme. de Stael, she never left me at all : 
she was so fond of me. 

Two days after my arrival I had to pay my 
visit to Prince Bernadotte, and prove to him my 
respectful gratitude for the protection he was so 
kind as to give me. Besides, he was a Frenchman. 
Our interview, too, was long. What a lot of 



LOOSE LEAVES 245 

French recollections ! What question did he not 
put to me ? He was really happy to recall his 
fatherland. He told me that the Queen wished 
to see me, and that I must come next day at noon. 
" I will obey, prince." Camps, also French, waited 
for me to take me back ; then Fliger, also French, 
and a colonel. 

"It is no use having a great rank in foreign 
countries, that is not France ; confess it. With 
the prince, of what have we been talking ? Of 
France. With you, of what have we been talk- 
ing ? Of France. You see quite well that, under 
your Swedish uniform, your heart is French. You 
must be ill at ease." 

Prince Oscar's tutor, M. le Moine, is French 
as well. We formed a reunion every evening, 
because I could not resist their invitations. These 
gentlemen waited for me to take tea, and remained 
there to chatter till two in the morning. 

I was frequently invited to visit the Queen, for 
she was very fond of hearing me recite, and she 
herself used to give me my cue. It was a great 
honour, doubtless ; but I was far from feeling that 
there was any flattery in this royal desire, which 
became, as a matter of fact, a command. But what 
can one do ? Obey. I had a very independent 
character, and to force me to do anything was to 
give me the fancy to resist. I have been very 
often wrong, and this perverseness of character has 
made me do many silly things. But what is the 
good of going back to the past ? It is done, and I 



246 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

have been a very spoiled child. Bah ! I have had 
my moments of happiness, too, which would never 
have existed if 1 had thought of money. I re- 
turned, as always happened after these visits of 
ceremony, with lively joy to the company of my 
intimates. 

I made my debut eight days after my arrival, in 
Mcrope. The house was crowded. There were 
there the King and Queen, Prince Bernadotte, 
Prince Oscar. The toilettes were most beautiful, 
the house fine, and the boxes all uncovered, which 
produced a magnificent effect for the dresses. The 
curtain rose, the lights were raised, which gives a very 
gloomy effect, but makes the theatre enormously 
brilliant. At each act the curtain is lowered, and 
the lights. I will not speak of the success : it was 
equal to the welcome of the public. I was very 
happy and proud. They do not recall one after 
each act or after a scene, but right after the tragedy, 
which is much more rational. It was the Italians 
Avho introduced these ridiculous ovations, which are 
often very disconcerting for the actors on the stage 
whose presence is ignored, and who are obliged to 
stand and watch while the favourites are recalled 
before the end of the act. It cuts the action ; but 
no matter, those who applaud think they have 
done their duty. Little human vanities ! This 
will not make you any greater, but you go home 
counting the number of times you have been 
recalled, and you deceive yourself to the extent 
of wishing to forget hoAV all these ovations 



LOOSE LEAVES 247 

are brought about. But your purse knows all 
about it ! 

{Dear 3Ia7^celi7ie, do with that, like everything else, 
as you wish.) 

I could not avoid invitations, and dined too 
much in the town. I was so tired of it that one 
day, at the Prime Minister's, where the young 
Prince Oscar was, and where there were at least 
forty persons, I said to myself, " Ah ! after the 
repast I am going to be smothered with requests, 
to aid my digestion, to recite half-a-dozen tragic 
scenes." Not at all. I am feeling very indisposed, 
I am obliged to retire. Offerings of orange and lime 
blossoms. Ah, very likely ! As a matter of fact I 
was dying of hunger. They are forced to put the 
horses to and drive me back. Ouf ! at last I am 
rid of that wretched crowd. I reached home to 
find them at supper ; my father made a thousand 
remonstrances. 

" What ! do you want me, then, to give up my 
free evenings ? Am I to go on enduring as an 
amusement kilhng myself with fatigue and bore- 
dom ? No, certainly not. Quick ! replace what 
you have left on the table, and let us have a 
hearty laugh. Father, dear, leave me my gaiety ; 
it will pass away soon enough." So I have got 
a nice evening's liberty. 1 will rid myself of 
this heavy dress and wait for our good visitors 
without formality or inconvenience. What 
happiness ! 

Mme. de Stael, on her side, tired me; I had 



248 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

been twice already to her, to a dinner and a 
reception. The third time I promised myself to 
be ill. I wrote to her to tell her not to count on 
me. I was quite peaceful with my people, and my 
footman announces Mme. de Stael. Confound 
the woman ! the passion she has for me is too 
inconvenient. 

** Show her into the other room." 

I sent my sister, who made a grimace at the 
commission I gave her. 

" Whatever am I to say to that lady ? " 

" Tell her that I am sleeping." 

*' But you are all of you laughing ! " 

" Tell her that I am in a fever, and raving. She 
can believe what she likes of it." 

Really her enthusiasm is nothing but an inquisi- 
tion. I was sorry for it on Prince Oscar's account, 
who was really charmingly good-natured, and 
rarely missed Mme. de Stael's receptions. And of 
course Albertine was charming as well. Mme. 
de Stael, it was said, who was clever and adroit, 
saw in the prince's visits an object she would 
have liked to have attained. I say " it was said," 
hut all the same they made her leave. 

I paid my respects to the Queen precisely at 
noon, who received me at once with extreme kind- 
ness. She was in morning neglige, a great muslin 
dressing-gown a la Croissy, trimmed with lace, her 
head uncovered and dressed quite carelessly. I 
had not yet played. She spoke to me about all 
my parts ; she preferred tragedy. She asked me a 



LOOSE LEAVES 249 

thousand questions about Paris, the Emperor, about 
the Court, and my stay at St. Petersburg. She 
spoke enormously, and with far too much curiosity. 
I rephed very shortly with discretion, because for 
a queen she asked me some very indiscreet 
questions. I got out of it as best I could. She 
must have said to herself, " Heavens ! what a 
stupid ! " Well, I preferred that ; or better, " She 
is very timid ! " She said to me — 

" My dear, the King wants to see you, but he 
wishes to receive you in full uniform. Wait a 
Httle." 

" Madame, I am too much honoured in waiting 
with your Majesty." 

Moreover, I was more than an hour with her. 
The King was announced ; he was indeed in full 
uniform, with sword at his side. He was a man of 
middle height, thin and suffering, walking with 
difficulty. Two officers supported him, which did 
not prevent him from leaning on his stick. He 
came towards me and said the most gracious things 
imaginable. He was not such a good talker as 
the Queen : the French language was less familiar 
to him. I remained nearly twenty minutes, and 
took leave of those noble personages. 

I went very often in the morning to the Queen, 
and in fact she gave me my cues. She was very 
fond of Me?'ope, and did not recite at all badly. 
Before leaving I made my farewell visit. She 
took from her neck a quite tiny, very heavy 
enamelled watch, begging me to wear it as a 



250 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

remembrance. " It is very modest," she said ; 
" but what can one offer you, my dear, who have 
such beautiful jewellery ? " 

It was a royal parsimony at which I smiled 
very graciously, promising myself, however, to 
keep the souvenir carefully, but never to wear 
that ugly little watch. 

The evening of my departure I supped at M. 
Camp's with Prince Bernadotte, who clasped on 
my arms two beautiful bracelets of fine pearls, with 
two very lovely diamond solitaires which formed 
the clasps. On returning, I found M. Le Moine, 
who brought me on behalf of the prince a diamond 
ring and a pin of the same stone for my sister. The 
prince sent me, as well, a lovely, good travelling 
carriage with four seats. I took with me a maid 
who was attached to me, and a certain Jules who 
belonged to the company, and a son of his, a child 
of eight or ten years. To return to France the 
journey was costly, and the poor youth was 
not rich. After eight performances I wanted to 
leave. It was impossible to remain longer : the 
war terrified me. 

I separated from the other artistes, some of whom 
remained at Stockholm and others left after us, 
returning to their dear fiitherland. 

I set off in the excellent carriage and two carts, 
one for my luggage the other for Jules, his son, 
and my valet. 

{Dear Vahnore, make some researches on Stock- 
holm : to knoiv, if possible, what should be insited. 



LOOSE LEAVES 251 

There is a statue there of Crustave Vasa in a square. 
But I do not know if it is the Palace Square : I 
think so.) 

Return to Paris (1815) 

In passing through the place Vendome I see an 
immense crowd. Heavens ! What do I see ? A 
rope round the Emperor's neck, and those wretches 
dragging that rope to make the great man fall to 
the ground. But their united forces will not lower 
him : he remains on his column, regarding them 
with a smile of pity. He must be saying that 
which he has said since : " So those are men ! " 

But I, when I see this terrible spectacle, become 
pale and cold. I was just going to throw myself 
out of the carriage, mad with anger as I was, to 
oppose — I, a feeble woman — this act of ferocity, 
when a friend who was with me catches hold of me 
and hides me in the depths of the carriage, and takes 
me back to my home, in the rue de RivoU. It was 
time : I felt I was dying. 

***** 

Lucien, Queen Hortense, Prince Eugene, Mme. 
Bacciochi, the white flag, which I saw hoisted with- 
out knowing that I saw it. 

***** 

My visit to the Duke of Vicense, Caulaincourt, 
on the night when the Emperor lost the empire. 
M. de Talleyrand had most people around him. 
The Duke of Vicense walked home with me, and, 
crossing the place du Carrousel, which was filled 



252 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

with Cossacks, Austrians and Prussians. Caulain- 
court said to me, " It is a nice walk for Frenchmen, 
isn't it, my dear Georgina ? " 



Monsieur Lemercier, I still see you on a day of 
a performance of Pinto at the Porte-Saint-Martin, 
visiting me, quite excited with what you had just 
listened to. Bocage was reciting Pinto , created in 
such a remarkable manner by Talma, the great 
actor. 

M. Lemercier made an observation to M. Bocage 

o 

on some scene, I forget which, saying — 

" Stop, Talma did it so, and he got a great success 
by that means." 

" My dear fellow, papa Talma did it as he under- 
stood it." 

At papa Talma, Lemercier naturally became 
very indignant. He had to shrug his shoulders and 
laugh in M. Bocage's face. 

Yes, Talma did it as he understood, and he 
understood everything with genius ; Nicomede, 
for instance, which M. Bocage played as Bocage 
understood it, it must be remembered. 

Bocage pretended that it was necessary to be 
stupid to play tragedy. Some time after this 
delicious mot, he was playing Nicomede at the 
Odeon. 

Some one who was present at the famous per- 
formance, and who knew of this mot of Bocage, 
exclaimed after the tragedy — 



LOOSE LEAVES 253 

" I never knew Bocage had so much cleverness. 
He is the cleverest man of our age." 

{Dear Caroline^ not kiiowmg where I am in all 
the scribbling you have, I pass on and will begin the 
romantic. ) 

After a tour in the provinces of a year, with a 
company of mine which played tragedies and 
comedies, I returned to Paris in 1829. M. Harel 
got the rights of the Odeon. The antecedents 
of dear Harel did not sound good to the ears of 
the Government of Charles X. Harel, an old 
magistrate, naturally dismissed for his well-known 
opinions ! Harel, five years an exile with Boulay 
de la Meurthe, General Exelmans ! Harel, who had 
founded the newspaper le Nain jaune, le Mij^oir ! 

All this was very dangerous, and in no way 
could it be presumed that he would obtain the 
management of a royal theatre. M. dela Bouillerie, 
who liked him, and knew him very well, spoke of it 
to Charles X, who only asked one question — 

** Is he an honest man ? " 

"Yes, sire. The proof: five years of exile for 
having remained attached to the Emperor ; and if 
he is accorded this privilege he will behave with 
loyalty." 

" I ask nothing better. I grant it him, and I 
consider his fidelity and devotion right and praise- 
worthy. I should like to have around my person 
many subjects such as he. They are rare, dear M. 
de la Bouillerie, are they not ? " 



254 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

# 
* * 

Mile. Contat, the great court lady, with her 
magnificent insolence, her grand manner, her free 
tone, her unstudied pretension, her unaffected 
easiness, her witty comedy, her enchanting smile, 
her frank gaiety of the great world of Louis XV 
—Mile. Contat ! 

* 

To Mme. Valmo7'e. 

Here I have given you all my impressions. Let 
me tell you them, and do not blame me. There 
are no details, just my impressions, my feehngs : 
that's all. 

At that time, for instance, our confidants were 
detestable, they listened treacherously to all the 
secrets of their princes and princesses. Ah ! the 
wretches, to make their king and people suffer. 

I heard Mme. de Stael tell, " I found myself 
placed at table beside a good talker, who, sitting 
between Mme. Recamier and myself, thought he 
was obliged to be witty, and after ripe reflection he 
delivered the stupidest impertinence I ever have 
heard : ' I am sure to find myself placed between 
beauty and genius.' 'Yes,' said I to him, 'without 
having either the one or the other.'" 

^ tK tP ^ * 

Josephine was very fond of flowers, and ^Ille. 
Raucourt was a great lover of them. They used 



LOOSE LEAVES 255 

to make exchanges. You must remember, dear 
Valmore, that Mile. Raucourt had a conservatory 
made at la Chapelle, in which she shut up her 
rarest plants. During a journey, Josephine stopped 
at la Chapelle ; she came to visit the conservatory 
and bring some plants. This little detail is to 
establish the intimacy of Josephine with Mile. 
Raucourt, and the familiarity which made her call 
her Fanny. 

Here is the book of which I was speaking to 
you, dear Valmore, which speaks of Josephine's 
love for flowers, and especially for jasmine, which 
reminded her of her own beautiful country. 
* * * * * 

In speaking of La Fontaine, some one said, " He 
has the genius of simplicity." 

" No ; La Fontaine had the simplicity of genius." 
{hi Georges writing: " Put this mot to the credit 
of M. Taylerant" (Talleyrand).) 

Jules Janin 

.Tanin's witty indifference. His fictitious en- 
thusiasm. He loved to destroy what he had 
made ; contradiction of himself amused him. 

On the Actor's Art 

Lessons in declamation ! How ridiculous this 
has always seemed to me ! 

How can a master think of changing the nature 
of a pupil ? He can be guided ; but can a soul and 



256 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

a heart which he has not be given to him ? No. 
Can nobiUty be given ? No. If you are awkward, 
will you learn to walk ? And will an awkward 
gait be given to you ? No. As to passion ? Are 
gestures learnt — what nonsense ! As to appear- 
ance ? Gestures, appearance are all derived 
from what you experience, from the sentiments 
which pass within you. How is that to be learnt ? 
Can one learn gestures in the world ? You begin a 
conversation, the subject interests you, gradually 
you become animated, you gesticulate correctly, 
your countenance reflects what you experience. At 
your side you have some one who is impressed 
with nothing, and listens coldly. Tell her, then, to 
have an appearance ; she will be grotesque, and that 
is all. No, lessons are ridiculous. There may be 
advice, and examples of experience of what you are 
demonstrating to develop a nature. It is possible 
to learn how to speak, but to play — No ! Give a 
lesson in acting, then ! Are you earnest about it ? 
You must dedicate yourself to the work, bring to 
it all your care and all your patience ; do not be 
content with giving a sentence or a verse as a cue ; 
recite whole scenes. You will judge the intelli- 
gence of the pupil, you will see how he attends, 
you will judge the impression of his physiognomy, 
how he enters into the action of his impersonation ; 
but if the duties are guided by interest, if you count 
the minutes of your clock, you are pursuing a trade. 
As for the art, it does not exist ! A prize really 
ought to be given to him who should present an 



LOOSE LEAVES 257 

educated artiste. I shall be told that my idea is 
absurd ; I don't think so at all. Talent is recom- 
pensed everywhere in all the arts ; why, then, should 
not the dramatic art occupy its place ? Why 
should not the actor who perfects his art receiv^e a 
prize, like the perfumer who has perfected a soap ? 
The reason is that the theatre is no longer a serious 
art ; that women are admitted too easily who only 
use it as a stepping-stone ; that managers are often 
allowed, even commissioned, to receive with salaries, 
'or merely nominal ones, pretty women, who, of 
course, are forced to occupy themselves in another 
way. Farewell, then, to every artistic future — 
farewell to art ! Pleasure and apparel before 
everything ! Unhappy actors ! Unhappy theatre ! 
What, indeed, is the use of studying for the purpose 
of hearing it said that you have talent ? Pshaw ! 
you know very w^ell that it will be said anyhow. 
Does criticism exist at all for you, Mademoiselles ? 

You all have a great deal of talent ; never has 
so much grace and distinction been seen. You 
read your paper ; you are convinced, except him 
who wrote it, a man of brains and taste, who 
knows quite well that he is deceiving you, but who 
does not care to hurt you. After all, it is of very 
little importance ! 

Criticism for true talent, of course ! but for these 
little hussies praises without restriction. Of course, 
it mustn't be allowed to go too far : my article will 
be read. To-day the pretty w^omen; to-morrow 
the artistes. 



258 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Oh speculation, you will break into all classes of 
society ! 

Money, always money ! Money will kill every- 
thing ! 

London 

The second journey of the company to London. 
Manager, Pelissier. 

Obtained from the Duke of Devonshire permis- 
sion for two tragical performances at the Grand 
Theatre of the opera (Covent Garden), a thing 
which had never been obtained before. Semwamis, 
Merope. The Duke is very charming to artistes. 

He received me at his country residence, which 
I wanted to visit in his absence. A great crowd 
was there to receive us ; a splendid lunch. Am 
given the key of his box for all performances. 

Invited to a charming reception at his house, 
where I recited some verses before the most illus- 
trious people in the land. The Duke himself 
clasped a bracelet on my arm, which had no value 
except for the way in which it was offered. Now- 
a-days, Pactolus does not flow so broadly for us 
artistes, or we tell less lies. 



Plan of the Memoirs 

My childhood, many details of which are written. 
My father, manager of the theatre. Actors from 
Paris perform, such as Mol^, Monvel. IMlle. Rau- 
court, commissioned to get a pupil for tragedy. 



LOOSE LEAVES 2.59 

begs my father to let me come to Paris for 
tragical studies at the Theatre-Fran9ais, the 
Government giving 1200 francs pension. 

My visits before my debuts, under the segis of 
Mile. Raucourt, to Ministers and the family of 
Napoleon. 

My debuts; the Comedie-Fran^aise ; visits to 
Dumesnil, Clairon, etc. 

My impressions on Talma, Monvel ; Mmes. Con- 
tat, Mars, Devienne, the last appearances of Larrive. 

The Consulate, Talleyrand. Lucien. The First 
Consul's mother. His sister Bacciochi. Josephine. 
Queen Hortense. Prince Eugene. 

My relations with the First Consul. The 
Empire. JVIany very intimate details about this 
liaison. 

My departure for Russia; stay at Vienna. 
Society (Viennese) ; Princess Bagratian, Mme. de 
Stael, Prince de Ligne, Cobentzel. Crossing the 
Vibia. 

My arrival at St. Petersburg. My debut. The 
Queen-mother, the Emperor Alexander, his brother 
Constantine, old Count StrogonofF, the young 
Empress, and many other people. 

My stay of five years, and departure after the 
sad war. Journey to Stockholm, the Queen, the 
old King, Prince Bernadotte. My performances. 
Mme. de Stael again. 

Departure for France. Pass the armies to reach 
Hamburg. General Vandamme. 

Dispatches announce my arrival in Dresden. 



260 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Twenty-four hours in Brunswick. The King of 
WestphaUa. llemitting him letters on behalf of 

Bernadotte. 

My arrival at Dresden. The same evening I 
saw the Emperor, who summons the Comedie- 
Fran9aise; commands Talma and Saint-Prix for 

tragedy. 

Return to the Thdatre-Fran^ais, and restitution 

of all my rights. 

General Lauriston. 

Departure of the Emperor for the Isle of Elba. 
Return of the Bourbons. The Duke de Berry 
summons me to the Tuileries for a denunciation. 
Very witty of the Duke to call me a beautiful 
Bonapartist ! 

"Yes, prince, it is my flag, and will be 

always ! " 

Interview with Louis XVIII about the Theatre- 

Fran9ais. 

Two journeys to London : one alone, the other 
with Talma. Reception at the French Ambassa- 
dor's. Osmond. King George present. 

Because I had exceeded my month's leave, the 
Duke de Duras profits by it to exclude me 
from the Theatre-Fran9ais. I am delighted; 
my Bonapartist sentiments procured me this 
benefit. 

I make a tour in the provinces. On my return 
the committee of the Thdatre-Fran^ais come to 
ask me to return. I have very little desire to. Find- 



LOOSE LEAVES 261 

ing myself in the midst of intrigues, Duchesnois 
threatening to leave, it all decided me to ask an 
audience of Louis XVIII to obtain my liberty, 
and pass to the Odeon. The comptroller of the 
King's household, General Lauriston, obtained a 
performance for me at the Opera. Talma, Lafont 
not being able to appear there, was commanded. 
I played Biitannicus. 

The second act of Mariage de Figaro, played 
by Firmin, Gonthier, Jemmy, Vertpre, Bourgoin 
and myself. We were very bad. 

A benefit of thirty-two thousand francs. 

I began my touring again in the provinces with 
a small company. 

There is a cabal at the Od^on ; I remained. 

There is some talk of the Odcon under the 
management of M. Harel, under Charles X. A 
company there composed of Lockroy, Ligier. 
Bernard, Duparcy, Vizentini, JMmes. Moreau, 
Noblet, Delatre. 

Romanticism : First night of Christine, by 
Frdd(3ric Soulie ; la Marechale d'Ancre, by Vigny ; 
Christine, by Dumas. 

Tragedy : No7^ma, Fete de Ndron, Revolution of 
1830. 

Porte-Saint-Martin. 

Victor Hugo. 

Alexandre Dumas. 

Well, there are plenty of things to say. Now 



262 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

there is quite enough for you to know if it is 
suitable. Yes or no ! 

Note by the Editor — How regi-ettable it is that this fine 
programme should not have been pursued to its goal ! How 
interesting George's notes on the debuts of romanticism would 
have been ! How curious it would have been to have had her 
recollections and appreciations of Victor Hugo^ Alfred de Vigny, 
Alexandre Dumas, on Marie Dorval and Frederick Lemaitre I 
But, unfoi'tunately, she stopped at what she has left us. 



THIRD PART 

CORRESPONDENCE OF MLLE. GEORGE 

Letter from Mile. Ravx^ourt on the subject of the debuts 
of Mile. George. 

La Chapelle Saint-Mesmin, the 4> . . . 

(The corner of the letter is to7m.) 

1 am very grateful, my young friend, for the 
kind letter you write me and the details which 
it contains. Very certainly one of the first things 
I shall do on reaching Paris will be to profit by 
the entry which you have procured for me to your 
honourable protectors. Incapable of requesting the 
favour for myself, I shall ask it with fervour for 
her whose lot I am anxious to determine. At this 
moment she is a little indisposed, which annoys me 
very much, because it hinders her work. I have 
only received news of Paris through you, but 
I still count on being there within eight or 
ten days at the latest. JNIme. George and her 
daughter will leave before me. There is some 
marauding game going on for Mile. Duchesnois. 
It is not natural that she has stopped her debuts 
not to resume them. The perfidious Florence, 
who has so ingeniously made Mile. George fail 

263 



264 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

here, is working dourly to make her really fail 
in Paris ; I am inclined to believe it, at least, after 
what you send me. 

Come, courage ! With good dispositions, physi- 
cal attractions, powerful friends, we shall carry off 
the victory. I say we because you have always 
shown such real interest that I am pleased to 
believe we make a common cause. 

Everybody at little la Chapelle is very anxious 
to be remembered to you, and sends a thousand 
kind greetings. My friends from Paris leave to- 
day. We have often talked of you and that jolly 
evening. 

Poor Mme. Suzy is dangerously ill. 

Adieu, young friend. My heartiest greetings. 

Raucoukt. 

To Monxienr Lnfonf, artiste of the TItedtre-Frangais of the 
Republic, rue Vdledo, Paris, 

To Monsieur Lemercier of the Academie-Frangaise. 

B , whom I have seen, dear Monsieur 

Lemercier, and who ought to have given you an 
account both of our intentions and his last visit to 
Picard, should have acquainted you with all that 
has passed. 

I am convinced that your opinion will be mine, 
and that you will not share the views of your 
colleague, whose conduct I fail to understand. 

Why do you wish to engage me for three 
years ? Why don't you wish to attach me as a 
member at the Odcon ? Why not receive my 



CORRESPONDENCE 265 

sister ? In fact, why don't you hasten to make 
an end of it, and break the ice with the First 
Theatre, with regard to which I am negotiating? 

I understand with real regret that Victor is no 
longer taking part with the Second Theatre. We 
are deprived of a young man whom we shall not 
replace any more, who was promising for the 
future. 

That causes me fear, and makes me guess at 
a near dissolution. 

I am not the less sensible, dear Monsieur 
Lemercier, of the interest of which you have 
given me proof in this circumstance. 

I know that busybodies, without any claim or 
mission, and without any approval on my part, have 
madly interfered between Picard and me. I have 
left the letters which were written to me without a 
reply, and have replied to you only, because I must 
recognise in you an estimable man and a necessary 
friend. 

However, the papers have spoken, and it can 
only have been M. Picard who dictated, and who 
will no doubt have thought that I was burning to 
place myself under his power, in which he is very 
much wrong, for, but for you, I should have waited 
before taking any steps. 

See, then, my dear Monsieur Lemercier, things 
seem in the same state, and I presume they will 
remain there for a long time, if M. Picard waits 
for fresh overtures on my part. 

Fortunately I am not in need of either theatre ; 



266 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

if either wants me (which I do not pretend), I do 
not desire to be in the position of being unable to 
accept. But you understand quite well that I 
must pursue the plans which I have confided to 
you. 

Accept, dear Monsieur Lemercier, with the 
expression of my gratitude, all the good wishes 
possible for yourself, and believe in the value I 
attach to a friendship which I shall force myself 
to deserve in all the occasions of life. 

George Weymer. 

Caen, January 6, 1820. 

Paris, September 14, 1821. 
MiNISTERE DE LA MaISON DU RoI, 

I hasten to inform you, sir, that the 
King, by an ordinance of to-day, has consented to 
authorise Mademoiselle George Weymer to play 
at the Second Theatre-Fran^ais. Will you then 
in consequence inform her of this decision, as 
well as the members of the theatre, so that the 
conditions of the engagement contracted between 
them and Mademoiselle George may be carried 
out. 

I am, sir, your very humble and obedient servant, 
Secretary of State to the King's Household, 

(Signed) M. de Lauriston. 

Mofisieur Gentil, manager of the Second Theatre, 

My dear Friend, 

I am sorry not to have seen you this 
morning. That which you came to propose to me 



CORRESPONDENCE 267 

is quite possible, but the figure is a little too 
economical. If you can come to-morrow morning I 
will wait for you. There is no time to lose if I am 
wanted to play on Sunday. If you were free this 
evening I would not go out. Suit yourself between 
this evening and to-morrow morning. 

George. 
My regards to madame, please. 

Monsieur Porcher, 10 rue de Lancry. 

My dear Mademoiselle Tilly, 

I ought to come myself and thank you 
for all your gracious kindness ; but for three days 
I have been a little indisposed. On Monday I 
propose to see you. If it is not indiscreet to ask 
you for a small box for myself in the evening, you 
would oblige me. However, I would not like to 
upset your arrangements ; I know what a first 
performance costs. 

Heartily yours, 

George W. 
My thanks and greetings to M. Tilly. 

My dear Mademoiselle Tilly, 

You must, you and M. Tilly, consider 
me not very polite, not having yet been to thank 
you both for your great favour ; but when you 
know that I have been ill since Friday you will 
not accuse me longer. Now I am going to ask 
you to take no engagement for la Tour de Nesle, 



268 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

should any one come and ask your consent to such 
a proposal. 

I shall have to talk to you on that subject. If 
it is possible, don't give your word before I have 
the pleasure of seeing you, which will be in a few 
days. 

Please accept, you and M. Tilly, my kindest 
regards. 

George. 

On April 30, 1906, M. Noel Charavay sold one 
of George's autograph letters to Harel (le Havre, 
September 20, 1839 ; a page and a half quarto). 

In this curious letter she gives him an account 
of the results of her tour. She ends thus — 

" Good-bye, friend of my life. I love you with 
all my heart and soul. I am yours till my last 
breath." 

To Theopkile Gauiier. 

Sunday (April 1845). 

Sir, 

You have always shown me an interest 
I have never dared to solicit. Permit me to tell 
you that has been a source of no little pride and 
then confidence to me, and I am giving you a 
proof of it to-day in asking all your support for 
les Phm^aons and Nephtys} 

The success begins to be very great ; you will 
render it immense by writing about it and protect- 

^ See the article by Th. Gautier in la Presse of April 14, 1845. 



CORRESPONDENCE 269 

ing it. As for me, I shall be very happy and very 
grateful for the kindness with which you welcome 
my efforts. 

Accept, sir, my kindest regards. 

George. 

{Collection of M. le vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul.) 

My dear Friend, 

Mile. Melingue is to-day playing Merope. 
Will you, if you give a notice of this perform- 
ance, recall in a few words the success which 
JMUe. George has so many times obtained in this 
part ? Nothing will prevent the justice rendered to 
Mile. Melingue being interfered with in any way by 
the useful recollection you would be good enough 
to give Mile. George. She is travelling at the 
moment, and perhaps for some time. A cheer 
of recognition on the occasion of the performance 
of M&ope will only be very natural and very 
favourable to the commercial result of Mile. George's 
peregrinations. 

Two words only I repeat — Multa paucis. 

You know all my old friendship for you. 

Harel. 

July 26, 1848. 

Monsieur Janin, 20 rue de Vaugirard. 

To Theophile Gautier. 

August 28. 

Sir, 

You are always overflowing with an amiable 
and useful kindness for me. 



270 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Your article of last Monday, which was sent me 
to read yesterday, is a new and very obliging proof 
of the interest you have shown for me for a long 
time, of which I am very sensible. 

Accept, sir, I beg, the expression of my lively 
gratitude and the sincerest regards of your devoted 
servant, 

George. 

(Collection of M. le vicomte de Spoelherch de Loven/'oul.) 



To Theophile Gautier, 2 7-ue Navarin. 



Sir, 



I should be very charmed if you would 
give me some hours of your time at the performance 
this evening. 

Permit me to count on your presence, and 
accept, please, the assurance of my sincere regards. 

George W. 

{Collection de feii M. le vico7nte de Spoelherch de Lovenjoul.) 

Letter of a plat/goer to Jules Janin on Mile. George s performances 
in the jjrovinces. 

Monsieur, 

She who was formerly one of the glories 
of the French stage, the most beautiful, and 
one of the most brilliant women of this centurj^, 
Mile. George, in fact, has come to the point, after 
a career so long and so active — in fact already 
far too prolonged — of dragging along her miserable 
existence in the gloomiest villages, and of appearing 



CORRESPONDENCE 271 

on stages where the most obscure actors from Paris 
would blush to perform. 

We were at Saumur some time ago. George 
was performing in the town, escorted by some poor 
wretches she had gathered round her. 3Ie7'ope was 
given, and the bill amiounced, if there were no more 
'people than last time the money would be returned. 
This piqued our curiosity, and we went to the 
theatre ; we counted some forty people in the 
house. - There was a performance, so Mile. George 
apparently found the receipts sufficient. 

We were then a witness of the most lamentable 
spectacle which could be unrolled before us. The 
actress appeared, almost beautiful still ; but in a 
hall half as large as at the Palais Royal. Illusion 
is impossible, and the wrinkles, white hair and 
monstrous figure, the hoarseness, unsteady gait, 
the cracked voice, the hesitating utterance of the 
poor actress, stupefied the spectators to such an 
extent that a unanimous feeling of pity and disgust 
took possession of them, so that they fled from 
what they saw before their eyes, and the play 
finished to an empty house. At each of the 
performances given in this town practically the 
same thing happens. 

From this town the unfortunate actress went 
on to Chinon and Azay, towns of four thousand 
and two thousand souls, where she played before 
peasants who kept on their hats in her presence ! 

We confine ourselves to this picture. Would 
it not be possible, sir, to extract this new Hecuba 



272 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

of the dramatic art from this unexampled position, 
whom only complete ruin forces to adopt this 
wandering life, either by obtaining help for her in 
whatever way possible, or by organising a farewell 
performance in the Salle de I'Opera, in which all the 
most celebrated actresses in Paris would be happy 
to appear, the proceeds of which would serve to 
assure her of an annuity of at least two thousand 
francs, if the receipts were twenty thousand francs, 
the prices being doubled ? 

In submitting this proposition to one of her 
comrades, and there are so many of them animated 
by the most ardent zeal and the most charitable 
minds, there is no doubt that the suggestion will 
promptly come to a head. 

Mile. George would readily give her assistance, 
and the scandal at which we were present, which is 
prolonging itself and will be prolonged too long, 
will no longer be renewed everywhere she goes. 

You will pardon, sir, the liberty we have taken 
in addressing you for this purpose, but we thought 
that for you, who are at the head of dramatic 
literature, it would be easier than another to realise 
this project. 

Even if Mile. George was not living in poverty, 
and was continuing to act in tragedy for her plea- 
sure, it would still be your duty to write to her, 
in order to open her eyes and make her understand 
that she is doing herself a great wrong by immolat- 
ing the name which she has made so famous. 

But alas ! this supposition is not likely : and we 



CORRESPONDENCE 273 

believe that necessity alone forces a woman of more 
than sixty to mount the vilest boards in France. 

Realise our project, sir, and you will have done 
a kind action. 

Accept the sincere regards of your very humble 
servant. 

(Signed) A. Moreau. 

May 20, 1847. 

P.S. — The Dramatic Association, M. Henri, of 
the Opera-Comique, or any other person interested 
in such matters, might place themselves at the 
head of this committee. 

Sir, 

M. Harel has told me of all the obliging 
promptitude you have shown in according me one of 
your pieces and several of your artistes for a perform- 
ance which I shall give on Saturday at the Odeon. 

I beg you to accept my expressions of lively 
gratitude. You are doing me a real service, which 
has still more value in my eyes that I have no 
other title than the friendship you keep for M. 
Harel, who for a long time has vowed you all his. 

Accept, sir, I beg, all my devotion. 

George. 

May 27. 

Letter from Mile. George to Tkeopkile Gautier, on the subject of 
her farewell performance in 1849. 

My dear Monsieur Th^ophile, 

You are unfindable, so I am obliged to 
write to you, and beg you to do me the immense 



274 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

service of dedicating your article on Monday to 
me. My farewell performance takes place on 
Sunday, the 27th prox. Iphigenie en Aulide ; le 
Moineau de Lesbie ; Mme. Viardot, Lavassor in 
a vaudeville, dances, etc. Do you want me to 
have a fuU house ? You can manage it, if you like. 
The public will go where you tell it to go. The 
last performance of Mile. Rachel before her farewell 
appearance, which unfortunately will last three whole 
months. Reunion for one occasion only of these 
two phenomena. My retirement, which is not with- 
out advantages. Mme. Viardot ! Only say all the 
good of me which, perhaps, you do not think. 
Make me blush by your praises ! But bring me an 
enormous pubhc. As for Rachel, say all the good 
of her which she deserves, and which you think. 
Give a rendezvous to the elite of society in that 
elegant hall. If you can find room to speak of 
some of my creations you will give me pleasure. 

You see, monsieur, how I count on the sym- 
pathy you have so often shown to me, to dare to 
bore you so long with my long scrawl. 

Permit me to hope that on Monday your article 
will not find fault with me. You understand of 
what importance this performance is to me. 

Accept my kind regards and deep gi-atitude. 

George W. 

Friday. 

Monsieur Theophile Gautier, rue Rougemont. Urgent. 



CORRESPONDENCE 275 

Letter from Mile. George to Jules Janin, on the farewell per- 
formance in 1849, and on Mile. Rachel. 

To-day I am ill ; to-morrow I shall be with you, 
at your feet, lender your feet. 

Now I am going to tell you how atrociously 
insolent the great tragedienne has been. She 
has refused to appear with me ! She did not 
wish to play le Moiueau (the Sparrow) and still 
she sent her claquer to me, to whom we had 
given free passes and four boxes and some stalls 
she had asked of me, which I hastened to let her 
have. Still the old fellow managed to find some- 
thing to grumble at. Now is the moment to write 
on the benefit ; it would be very droll. Ah ! Mile. 
Rachel, you have indeed been kind ! A few days 
more and I could become as thin as she. That 
was her pretension. 

My respects to Mme. Janin. 

G. 

My dear Monsieur Theophile, 

As I do not know precisely the hour at 
which I can meet you (and I am not a very early 
person) I am going to ask you to be so kind as to 
indicate to me as near as possible your day and 
hour. I have a service to ask of you, and as you 
have always been prompt to be helpful and kind 
to me, I count once more on your interest to re- 
ceive me shortly. I await, dear Monsieur Gautier, 
your prompt and kind reply as usual. 



276 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Accept the assurance of my kindest regards as 
well as of my gratitude. 

George W. 

My compliments to madame, if you please. 

Mademoiselle George, 44 rue Basse-du Rempart. 

{Collection of M. le vicomte de Spoelboxk de Lovenjoul.) 

Evreux, Monday 6. 

My darling, I will give you my news. I 
know that will please you. I believe, adored 
friend, that our little business will go well. 
This evening I am playing Merope, to-morrow 
Semiramis, and doubtless Wednesday at Louviers, 
which is only six leagues from here ; Thursday, 
perhaps here ; that will depend on the receipts. 
I am told that Bernay and Elbeuf are better. 
We follow your itinerary thoroughly. Your 
indisposition will have no consequences, friend. 
At home, you should not forget the care necessary 
to yourself. A little patience and all will be 
well. I leave you, my adored man ; Seriiiramis is 
just to be rehearsed. To our prompt meeting, my 
darling, whom I love with all the strength of my 
soul. 

Yours always, yours for my life. Till to-morrow. 

(Signed) George, 

Kiss my sister for me. 

{Letter to Harel.) 

On an envelope these words written by George are 
to be read — 



CORRESPONDENCE 277 

" Last letter of my (word illegible, perhaps ' old ' ) 
lover 

One word, my darling, my heart always beats 
for you. And here we are, alas ! separated for 
some time. Your image will be ever before me. 

Bebelle lavishes her attentions on me. 

Our dear Tom is with you ; he does his best for 
you in your exploitation. Your sister will always 
give me news of you ; you yourself will remember 
my eternal tenderness ; and your letters will do 
me much good. 

Embrace my son for me. 

Yours for ever, 

(Signed) Harel. 

Paris, June 1846. 

Madame George, first tragedy actress of the Parisian Theatre, at 
Audclys {Registered^ 

The letter contained the following quatrain — 

De mon visage, en ce portrait, 

Avec justesse a-t-on saisi I'ensemble ? 

Moi, je n'en puis juger ; mais enfin, s'il te plaitj 
Vite, dis moi qu'il me ressemble. 

Harel. 

A letter from M. Fictorien Sardou. 

Marly-le-roi, Sunday. 

Dear Friend, 

I saw Mile. George at the Od^on, in 
1842 or '43, in Rodogime and Lucretia Borgia. 
Rodogune has only left me the recollection of a 



278 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

truly royal face. The tragedy bored me. But 
Lucrece Borgia was an enchantment for my 
nascent romanticism ! Mile. George was then 
bordering on sixty. She was ridiculously fat. After 
having crouched at the feet of Gennaro, she could 
only rise with his assistance. I remember her 
childish hands attached to arms as thick as thighs, 
and on her massive shoulders the neck and head of 
a very matured Juno, with cruel rolls of fat. But 
nevertheless she was so tragic by habit, in her walk 
and gestures, in her slightly emphatic delivery and 
the beautiful sonorousness of her voice, that the even- 
ing is always present in my memory. I can still see 
Lucretia, masked and all in white — which was not 
conducive to making her thinner — walking on the 
stage with Monrose's son, who was playing Subetta. 
I can see her fall under the invectives of the 
friends of Gennaro. The scenery was odious, the 
first especially : an old curtain much used, peeling 
and torn, without visible trace of either design or 
colour, which the same evening did for Thames 
fogs in V Anglais ou lefou raisonable, and in Lucrece 
for the Grand Canal at Venice. The costumes 
were ridiculous, the mise en scene childish. The 
monks in the last act, with their badly fixed false 
beards, were the joy of the pit. George triumphed 
over all that, so much was she, for the public, the 
very incarnation of Victor Hugo's heroine — abso- 
lutely false, by the way ! 

About 1860, one evening at the Folies-Drama- 
tiques, I installed myself in a corner-box with 



CORRESPONDENCE 279 

Dejazet, when behind us a door opened before 
a fat lady who, in a raucous voice, cried, " Ah ! 
Deujazet ! " (sic). 

It was Mile. George. 

While the two great actresses exchanged some 
pleasant commonplaces I looked with stupor at the 
Duchess of Ferrara. She had taken a snuff-box 
from her muff, and helped herself to enormous 
pinches of snuff, with which she stuffed her nose 
fiercely. . . . 

A remembrance of Napoleon ! 

I only saw her that once. 

A thousand greetings. 

V. Sardou. 

Monsieur Cheramy, 1 1 his, rue Arsene-Houssaye, Paris. 



APPENDIX 

Note from the C0MEDIE-rRAN(;?AISE ON THE 

Parts filled by Mlle. George 

The 8 Frimaire, year xi (November 29, 1802), 
George Weymer made her debut at the Com^die- 
Fran^aise in Clytemnestra in Iphigenie en Aulide. 
She played successively : the 17 Frimaire, Amenaide 
{Tancrede) ; the 25 Frimaire, Idam^ {Orphelin de la 
Chine) ; the 30 Frimaire, Emilie {China) ; the 14 
Nivose {Didon) ; the 3, 4, 25 Pluviose, Semiramis 
and Phedre. 

A quarter Societaire in March 1804, in young 
princesses, grand princesses, queens and mothers. 

On May 11, 1808, the fifth performance of 
Debrieu's Artaxerxes was to be given, in which 
Mlle. George was to play the part of Mandane. 
In the morning at eleven o'clock the Superintendent 
received a letter from Mile. George, informing him 
that an affair of the greatest importance obliged her 
to leave Paris for some days. The theatre was closed. 

On May 13, a decree of the Superintendent of 
Performances condemns Mlle. George to a fine of 
three thousand francs, a sum which it was estimated 
the performance which she had missed would have 

realised. 

281 



282 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

On May 30, Mile. George's share is provisionally 
sequestered. 

On June 17, in virtue of a new decree, her name 
is erased from the books of members of the Thdatre- 
Fran^ais. 

Mile. George, who had gone to St. Petersburg, 
remained there six years, and reappeared at the 
Comedie-Fran^aise in the part of her ddbut as 
Clytemnestra. She re-entered at a five-eighths share, 
with the promise of a whole share, which she obtained 
in the following year. A decree of October 25, 1813, 
gives her the second place for leading parts, held in 
chief by Mile. Duchesnois ; she had to understudy 
immediately Mile. Raucourt in the parts of queens 
which had never been played by Mile. Duchesnois, 
and play the others alternately with Mile. 
Duchesnois. 

In 1816 Mile. George, who had, under the 
pretext of illness, prolonged by fifty days a leave 
of two months, was refused her share for that 
period. Offended, she gave in her resignation, which 
was not accepted. In 1817 she refuses successively 
to act the parts which had been given her in 
Germanicus by A.-V. Arnault, and in la Mort 
dAbel by Legouve. 

Considering that Mile. George Weymer has 
nearly entirely, and, without valid excuse, left the 
theatre, abandoned her profession, and refused to 
appear and play in new parts, the Due de Duras 
decrees. May 6, 1817, that *'to date from the 
8th of the present month the demoiselle George 



APPENDIX 283 

Weymer will cease to share in the company of the 
Theatre-Fran^ais." 

On December 17, 1853, Mile. George reap- 
peared at the Theatre-Fran ^ais in a performance 
for her benefit ; she played Cleopatre in Rodogime. 



Journal des Debuts 
From 10 to 11 Frimahx (December 1, 1802) 

ARTICLE BY GEOFFROY ON THE DEBUT OF MLLE. 
GEORGE WEIMER, PUPIL OF MLLE. RAUCOURT 

Not sufficient measures were taken to restrain 
the extraordinary crowd which such a famous debut 
was bound to attract. All the guard was engaged 
at the office where the tickets were distributed, 
while the entrance door, almost without defenders, 
sustained the most terrible siege ; there assaults 
were made, which I only could make a tragical 
description of, for I was a spectator and even a very 
involuntary actor. Chance had thrown me into 
the melee before I could be aware of the danger. 

Qitaeque ipse miserrima vidi, et quorum pars magna 
fui, the assailants were animated by the desire to see 
a new actress, and by the enthusiasm which a cele- 
brated beauty inspires. It is on these occasions 
that curiosity is nothing more than an insensate 
and brutal passion ; it is then that the taste for 
shows and arts resembles ferocity and barbarism. 
Stifled women emit piercing cries, while the men in 



284 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

savage silence, forgetting politeness and gallantry, 
think only of opening a passage for themselves at 
the expense of everything which surrounds them. 

The councillors of Priam, on seeing Helen pass, 
cried, "A princess so beautiful deserves to be battled 
for ; but however marvellous be her beauty, peace 
is still preferable." And I said on seeing Mile. 
George, " Need one be surprised if people are 
suffocated for such a superb woman ? But were 
she, if possible, more beautiful still, it is far better 
not to be suffocated, even in her own interests, for 
spectators are more severe with regard to a debutante, 
when their sight costs them so dear." 

Preceded on the stage by an extraordinary repu- 
tation for beauty, Mile. George has not appeared 
beneath her reputation ; her face unites to French 
graces the regularity and nobility of Grecian forms ; 
her figure is that of the sister of Apollo when she 
advances on the banks of Eurotas, surrounded by 
her nymphs, and raising her head above them. Her 
whole person is made to be offered as a model to 
Guerin's chisel. When she caused the first lines 
of her part to be heard, the ear was not as favour- 
able to her as the eyes ; the inseparable trouble 
of such a moment had altered her voice, naturally 
flexible, wide of compass and sonorous ; some 
defects which could be remarked in the acting and 
diction must be attributed to the same cause, all 
of which, though, can be easily corrected. A girl of 
sixteen who appeared for the first time before such 
a large and imposing assembly could not have the 



APPENDIX 285 

full use of her faculties ; it is sufficient that in the 
first appearance she showed the happiest dis- 
positions and the germ of a great actress. One 
must wait and not extinguish by carping severity a 
good talent ready to develop itself. Her very 
faults have a noble origin ; they belong to an im- 
petuosity and an ardour which she does not yet 
know how to regulate, which precipitates her 
delivery and movements ; for in that beautiful body 
there is a soul impatient to pour itself out. She 
is not a statue of Parian marble ; she is Pygmalion's 
Galatea, full of warmth and life, and in some way 
oppressed by the crowd of new sensations which 
are rising in her bosom. 

The manner of the teacher was to be recognised 
in the pupil. That could not be otherwise ; 
pupils nearly always imitate defects, but when 
they have talent they soon acquire a manner. If 
IMlle. George were only a faithful copy of Mile. 
Raucourt, our theatre would not be unfortunate, 
and the audience would have nothing to complain 
about in seeing Mile. Raucourt at eighteen. The 
debutante seems destined for the part of queens. 
Her extreme beauty will perhaps be superfluous for 
those parts, but her figure, her dignity and grace, 
the clearness and firmness of her voice, are of the 
fii'st necessity. 

Memoires de Mme. de Remusat (Published by 
Cahiann-Levy, Vol. I, p. 202) 

It is known that M. de Remusat protected Mile. 



286 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Duchesnois, doubtless perfectly honourably. Mme. 
de Remusat, in her Memoirs, is less charitable to 
Mile. George. It is interesting to read the lines 
which she has dedicated to her, and an apprecia- 
tion by her stepson, Paul de Remusat, who gives 
us the opinion of the whole family of de Remusat. 
"Two remarkable actresses (Miles. Duchesnois 
and George) made their debuts in tragedy almost 
at the same time. The one was ugly, but dis- 
tinguished by a talent which won approval ; the 
other was mediocre, but of extraordinary beauty.^ 

1 Here is a recollection my father has preserved of the rivalry 
and talent of these two celebrated actresses. The liaison of the 
Emperor with Mile. George made some noise. Society (I have a 
recollection of it myself) was very excited over the controversy 
touching the respective merits of the two ti-agediennes. There 
was a lively dispute after each performance of either. The 
connoisseurs and the salons in general were for Mile. Duches- 
nois. She had, however, very little talent, and played with- 
out intelligence ; but she had passion, sensibility, and a 
touching voice which made people weep. For her was invented, 
I think, the theatrical expression, " to have tears in the voice." 
My mother and my aunt (Mme. de Nansonty) were very pro- 
nounced for Mile. Duchesnois to the point of breaking lances 
with my father himself, who for administrative reasons was 
obliged to impartiality. It was these discussions on dramatic 
art, together with the facility which my father's duties gave us 
of following all the events of the theatrical world, which very 
early awoke within me a certain taste and appreciation of litera- 
ture and conversation which were scarcely to be expected at my 
age. I was taken very early to tragedy, and I saw these two 
Melpomenes in nearly all their debuts. It was said that the one 
was so good that she was beautiful in them, and that the other 
was so beautiful that she was good in them. The latter, then 
very young, trusted to the fascination of her charms, but she 



APPENDIX 287 

The Paris public grew warm for the one or the 
other, but, in general, success of talent over- 
came her with the beauty. Bonaparte, on the 
contrary, was charmed by the latter, and Mme. 
Bonaparte very soon learnt by the spying of her 
valets that Mile. George had been, for several 
evenings, introduced secretly into a small remote 
set of apartments in the chateau. This discovery 
inspired her with real uneasiness ; she told me about 
it with extreme emotion, and began to shed a great 
many tears, which seemed to me more abundant 
than that passing occasion deserved. 

* * # # * 

" One evening Mme. Bonaparte, more overcome 
than usual by her jealous uneasiness, kept me with 
her, and conversed livelily about her troubles. It 
was one o'clock in the morning, and we were alone 
in the salon. The most profound silence reigned 
at the Tuileries. All of a sudden she got up. 
* I can't stand it any longer,' she exclaimed. 
*Mlle. George is certainly up there, and I am 
going to surprise them.' Rather troubled by this 
sudden resolution, I did what I could to deter her 
from it, but without success. * Follow me,' she 

had not a sufficiently flexible voice, a certain heaviness in pro- 
nunciation did not allow her to reach easily to the effects of 
cultivated diction, I believe, however, that at bottom she had 
more genius than her rival, and, in being pi-odigal of her talent 
in other kinds of dramatic genres, she at the same time com- 
promised and developed it, and she deserved a portion of the 
reputation it was endeavoured to make for her in her old age. 



288 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

said; 'we will go up together.' Then I repre- 
sented to her that such espionage, being scarcely 
suitable on her part, would be intolerable on mine, 
and in the event of the discovery she expected 
to make I should certainly be very much in the way 
during the scene which would follow. She would 
listen to nothing, and pressed me so much that, 
in spite of my repugnance, I yielded to her will, 
saying, however, to myself that our expedition 
would amount to nothing, that doubtless their 
precautions had been taken on the first floor against 
every surprise. 

"So there we were, both marching silently — 
Mme. Bonaparte first, very excited, I behind, slowly 
climbing the carpetless staircase which led to Bona- 
parte's rooms, and very ashamed of the part which 
I had been made to play. In the middle of our 
journey a light noise was to be heard. Mme. 
Bonaparte turned back. ' Perhaps it is Roustan,' 
she said, ' Bonaparte's mameluke, who is guarding 
the door. The wretch is capable of throttling 
both of us.' At that word I was seized with a 
fright which, ridiculous as it doubtless was, pre- 
vented me from listening any more ; so, without 
thinking that I was leaving Mme. Bonaparte in 
cruel obscurity, I descended with the candle which 
I was holding in my hand, and returned as quickly 
as I could to the salon. She followed me a few 
minutes afterwards, astonished at my sudden flight. 
When she saw my frightened face she began to laugh, 
and so did I ; but we renounced our undertaking. 



APPENDIX 289 

I left her, saying that the strange fright she had 
given me had been useful to her, and that I had 
been very wise to yield to it." 



Alexandre Dumas 
Note by the Editor 

Alexandre Dumas, who had been one of George's 
lovers, often speaks of her in his Memoirs. She 
told him the most curious events of her life, and 
Dumas in his turn tells them with that eloquence, 
brilliancy, and good nature which only belong to 
him. We have not hesitated to make large selec- 
tions from the Memoirs of the author of 3Io7ite 
Christo. These extracts wittily complete George's 
Memoirs, and permit us to form an exact and 
complete idea of her appearance. 

It is a pity that Dumas' Memoirs are not more 
read, which, unfortunately, stop too soon, and are 
as curious as the most entertaining of his novels. 



Mes memoires. Third series. Calmann-Levy, 
1898-1899. 

A word on the way in which JVIUe. George 
was entered at the theatre and in which she was 
maintained there. Loved by Bonaparte, and having 
remained in favour with him, JMlle. George, idio 
asked the privilege of accompcuujing Napoleon to 
St. Helena, is nearly an historic personage. 



290 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Towards the end of 1800 and the beginning 
of 1801, Mile. Raucourt, who played leading 
tragedy parts at the Theatre-Fran9ais, was giving 
some performances in the provinces. This was the 
period when the Government, although it had much 
to do, was not in its free moments ashamed to oc- 
cupy itself with art. Consequently, Mile. Raucourt 
had received from the Government an order, if 
she met with, on her tour, any pupil not unworthy 
of her lessons, to bring her back with her to Paris. 
This pupil should be considered as a pupil of the 
Government, and would receive 1200 francs pension. 

Mile. Raucourt stopped at Amiens. 

There she found a beautiful young girl of fifteen, 
who looked like eighteen : one would have said it 
was the Venus of Milo descended from her pedestal. 
Mile. Raucourt, nearly as Grecian as Lesbian Sapho, 
was very fond of living statues. On seeing this 
young girl walking, and the steps of the goddess 
revealed in her, as Virgil says, the actress makes 
inquiries, and learns that she was called George 
Weymer, that she was the daughter of a German 
musician called George Weymer, manager of the 
theatre, and of Mile. Verteuil, who played the 
parts of soubrettes. 

The young girl was destined for tragedy. 

Mile. Raucourt made her play Elise in JDidon 
with her, and Aricie in Plicdre. The experiment 
succeeded, and on the same evening as the per- 
formance of Phedre she demanded the young 
tragedienne from her parents. 



APPENDIX 291 

The prospect of being the pupil of the Govern- 
ment, and, above all, the pupil of Mile. Raucourt, 
had, apart from some small objections, from which, 
strictly speaking, the young girl could protect 
herself, too many attractions in the eyes of the 
parents for them to refuse. 

The request was granted, and Mile. George left, 
accompanied by her mother. 

The lessons lasted eighteen months. During the 
eighteen months the young pupil lived in a poor 
mansion in rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs, which, 
probably by antiphrasis, was called V Hotel du Perou. 

As for Mile. Raucourt, she lived in a magnificent 
house at the end of the allee des Veuves, which 
had belonged to Mme. Tallien, which, also doubt- 
less by antiphrasis, was called la Chaumiere. We 
said " a magnificent house " ; we should have said 
"a little house," because this mansion of Mile. 
Raucourt was really quite a small house in the 
Louis XV style. 

Towards the end of the eighteenth century, a 
strange century in which things were called quite 
loudly by their proper name, Sapho Raucourt 
enjoyed a reputation the originality of which she 
did not in the least try to weaken. 

The sentiment Mile. Raucourt bore for men was 
more than indifference, it was hate. The writer of 
these lines has under his eyes a manifesto signed 
by the illustrious actress, which is actually a war 
cry raised by JMlle. Raucourt against the masculine 
sex, in which the new Queen of the Amazons 



292 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

summons all the beautiful warriors enrolled under 
her command to an open rupture with men. 

Nothing is more curious for its form, and, above 
all, for its depth, than this manifesto. However, it 
is a singular thing that, in spite of her disdain for 
us, Mile. Raucourt, in all circumstances where the 
costume of her sex was dispensable, had adopted 
that of ours. 

So very often in the morning Mile. Raucourt 
gave lessons to her beautiful pupil in trousers and a 
dressing-gown, just as M. JNIole or M. Fleury did, and 
with her was a beautiful woman who called her ^'mon 
cnni,'' and a charming child who called her ^^papa." 

We did not know Mile. Raucourt, who died in 
1814, and whose burial made such a prodigious 
scandal ; but we knew the mother, who died in 
1832 or 1833 ; moreover, we still know the c/iild, 
who to-day is a man of fifty-five. 

We know another artiste whose whole career was 
hindered by IMUe. Raucourt, through jealousy he 
had the misfortune to inspire in this terrible woman. 
MWe. Raucourt appeared before the committee of 
the Theatre-Fran^ais, exposed her rights of pos- 
session and priority over the person whom the 
impudent comedian wished to take away from her, 
and, the authority and possession being recognised, 
the impudent comedian, who still lives and is 
one of the best-hearted fellows in the world, was 
chased from the theatre, the members fearing 
that, like Achilles, JNIUe. Raucourt, because of this 
new Briseis, might retire to her tent. 



APPENDIX 293 

Let us return to the young girl, whose mother 
never left her for a single instant during the 
visits she paid her professor, and who three times 
a week tramped the long way from la rue Croix- 
des-Petits-Champs to the allee des Veuves to take 
her lessons. 

The debuts were fixed for the end of November. 

They had to take place in Clytemnestrei in Emilie, 
in Amendide, Idame, JDidon and in Semiramis. 

A great affair, both for the artiste and the 
public, was a d^but at the Theatre-Fran9ais in 
1802. It was certainly a still gi-eater affair to be 
received as a member. If one was received as a 
member, as a man one became the colleague of 
INIonvel, of Saint-Prix, of Baptiste the elder, of 
Talma, of Lafont, of Saint-Phal, of ^lole, of Fleury, 
of Armand, of Michot, of Grandmenil, of Dugazon, 
of Dazincourt, of Baptiste the younger, of La 
Rochelle ; and as a woman, of Mile. Raucourt, 
Mile. Contat, of INIlle. Devienne, of Mme. Talma, 
of Mile. Fleury, of Mile. Duchesnois, of INllle. 
IVJezeray, and of Mile. INIars. 

***** 

Talma was one of the familiars of the little 
bourgeois court of the First Consul. He spoke of 
the debutante Mile. George ; he told of her beauty 
and the promise she was giving. Lucien's head is 
fired by it, and, as a regular John the Precursor, he 
had managed to see through a hole in some curtain, 
perhaps, indeed, through a wide-open door she who 
was the topic of conversation for the moment, and 



294 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

he came to Malmaison to say, with a slightly sus- 
picious enthusiasm, that, at any rate in physical 
bearing, she was well above the praises which had 
been given her. 

The great day arrived. It was the 8 Frimaire 
in the year xi (November 29, 1802). There had 
been a queue at the theatre of the Republic since 
eleven o'clock in the morning. 

***** 

Dumas then reproduces Geoffroys article on the 
debuts of 3IIle. George. 

He quotes the famous line — 

" Vous savez, et Calchas mille fois vous I'a dit," 

and continues thus — 

" Vous savez, et Calchas mille fois vous I'a dit." 

Pardon ! I must again interrupt myself, or 
rather I must interrupt GeofFroy. 

The reader knows that there was a custom 
which was expected of debutantes at this Hne. 

" Why this line ? " the reader will ask. 

Ah ! that is true, one only knows things, when 
one is obliged to know them. I will tell you. 
Because this line is too simple, and unworthy of 
the tragedy. 

You will not doubt it, monsieur, nor you, madame, 
who do me the honour of chatting with me ? For 
your servant knows it : he who is obliged to read 
everything, even GeofFroy. Listen carefully, 
because we are not at the end. That line being, 



APPENDIX 295 

by its simplicity, unworthy of tragedy, there was an 
expectation to see how the actress, correcting the 
poet, would manage to set it off. 

Mile. George did not aspire to more genius than 
Racine. She said the line, written with the simpli- 
city of passion, simply and with the most natural 
intonation possible. There were murmurs. She 
resumed with the same accent: there were still 
more murmurs. 

Fortunately, Raucourt, in spite of a sprain she 
had met with, was present at the performance, 
and had been carried to the theatre, and from 
one of the small boxes, in the mantle of Harlequin, 
encourages her pupil. 

" Be firm, Georgina," she cried ; " be firm." 

And Georgina — it seems strange to you, does 
it not, that there was a time when Mile. George 
was called Georgina ? — repeated the verse with the 
same simple and natural accent for the third 
time. 

There was applause. 

From this moment her success was assured, to 
speak in theatrical terms. 

Mile. George played the part of Clytemnestra 
three times consecutively. It was an enormous suc- 
cess. Then she passed on to the part of Amenaide, 
that girl seized with hysterical vapours, as GeofFroy 
insisted, and her success kept on increasing. 
Finally, from the part of Amenaide she passed to 
that of Idame in TOiyhelin de la Chine. If the 
men waited for the debutantes in the part of 



296 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Clytemnestra, to know how they would say the 
famous Hue unworthy of Racine — 

" Vous savez, et Calchas miUe fois vous I'a (lit " — 

the women waited with no less impatience for 
them in the part of Idame, to see how they would 
dress their hair. 

Mile. George dressed hers quite simply in Chinese 
fashion, that is to say, raising the hair from the 
head and tying it with a gold ribbon. 

She was admirable thus, with her hair dressed 
in the Chinese fashion, as I was told, not by 
Lucien but King Jerome, his brother, a great 
appreciator of all beauty, and who, like Raucourt, 
kept up the habit of calling George Georgina. 



3Iemoirs—^fom^th series, p. 10 and following. 

The French actors learnt at St. Petersburg of the 
entrance of the Emperor into Moscow. They could 
not remain in a hostile city, and set out for Stock- 
holm, where, after a journey of three weeks, they 
arrived in sledges. 

There a Frenchman still reigned, or rather he 
supported the crown on the head of the old Duke 
of Sudermania, who was acting as interim king. 

Bernadotte received the fugitives like his com- 
patriot, Henri IV, would have received them. 

A dramatic stay of three months took place 
in Sweden, our ancient ally, which was, under a 



APPENDIX 297 

French King, to become our enemy. Then they 
set out for Stralsund, where a stay of fifteen 
days was made. 

On the evening of the departure, INI. de Camps, 
one of Bernadotte's officers, came to fetch Mile. 
George. Hermione was to be used as an ambassa- 
dor's messenger. JNI. de Camps brought a letter from 
Bernadotte ; it was addressed to Jerome-Napoleon, 
King of Westphalia. This letter was of the highest 
importance : they did not know where to hide it. 

Women are never at a difficulty in hiding a letter. 
Hermione hides Bernadotte's letter in the sheath 
of her corsets. The sheath of her corsets is the 
scabbard for a woman's sword. 

JNI. de Camps retired moderately assured : swords 
were drawn so easily from their scabbards at that 
period. 

The ambassadress set off in a carriage given her by 
the Prince Royal. She carried on her knees a case 
filled with three hundred thousand francs' worth of 
diamonds ; three crowns are not shaken without 
something falling from them. 

Diamonds in case and letter in corsets arrive 
without accident to within two days of Cassel, the 
capital of the new kingdom of Westphalia. The am- 
bassadress travelled night and day. The letter was 
so important, the diamonds such a great anxiety I 

All of a sudden, in the middle of the night, a 
great noise of horses was heard and a forest of 
lances was seen. A gigantic cheer resounded — they 
had fallen into the midst of a company of Cossacks. 



298 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Many hands were stretched to the door, when 
a young Russian officer appeared. 

Never had Hippolyte seemed more beautiful to 
the eyes of Phedre ! George calls him by name. 

You remember the story of Ariosto, and that 
engraving which represents the robbers on their 
knees. The genuflexion this time was different, 
being more natural before a young actress than 
before a poet of forty years. 

The hostile horde becomes a friendly escort, 
which only abandon the beautiful traveller to 
yield her to the French outposts. Once confided 
to the outposts, George, her letter and her diamonds, 
were saved. 

She arrives at Cassel : King Jerome was at 
Brunswick. He was a very gallant king, very 
young and very handsome was King Jerome : he 
was scarcely twenty-eight years old. He shows 
himself to be as impressed as possible at receiving a 
letter from the Prince Royal of Sweden. 

I do not exactly know if he received it or she 
took it ; but this I know, that the ambassadress 
remained a day and a night in Brunswick. Not 
less than forty-eight hours, it will be agreed, are 
necessary to recover from such a journey. 

A ^ ^ j|& Jl& 

Volume V, page 306. 

My recitations of Christine opened Mile. George's 
door for me, as my recitations of Henry III opened 
Mile. Mars' house for me. 



APPENDIX 299 

It was a house of very original style which my 
good dear George lived in, No. 12 rue Madame, 
as far as I remember. At the back, in the garrets, 
Jules Janin was the second tenant ; on the first 
and ground floors, George, her sister and two 

nephews. 

***** 

Aunt George was then an admirable creature, 
aged nearly forty-one. We have already given her 
portrait, written, or rather designed, by the cunning 
pen of Theophile Gautier. She had, especially, 
hands, arms, shoulders, neck and eyes of an unheard- 
of richness and magnificence ; but, like the beautiful 
fairy Melusine, she showed in her walk a certain 
awkwardness — I don't know why, for George had 
feet worthy of her hands ^ — which dresses of an un- 
usual length added still more to. 

Apart from theatrical matters, for which she was 
always ready, George was incredibly lazy. Grand, 
majestic, aware of her beauty which had had for 
admirers two emperors and three or four kings, 
George liked to remain lying on a large couch, in 
winter in velvet robes, fur mantles and Indian 
shawls, and in summer in dressing-gowns of cambric 
or muslin. Stretched thus in a careless and gracious 
pose, George received the visits of strangers, some- 
times with the majesty of a Roman matron, some- 
times with the smile of a Greek courtesan, whilst 
from the folds of her dress, the openings of her 
shawls, and the half-openings of her dressing-gowns 
^ Dumas is less severe than Napoleon. — The Editor, 



800 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

appeared, like the necks of serpents, the heads of 
two or three greyhounds of the finest breed. 

George's cleanhness was proverbial. She made 
a first toilette before entering the bath, so as not 
to soil the water in which she would remain for an 
hour. There she received her familiar friends, 
fastening from time to time with gold pins her hair, 
which kept coming undone, and which gave her as 
it came undone the opportunity to allow her splen- 
did arms to come out of the water, and sometimes 
even the base of her throat, which one would have 
said had been carved in Parian marble. 

And, a strange thing ! these movements, which 
with another woman would have been provocative 
and lascivious, were simple and natural with George, 
and like those of a Greek in the times of Homer 
and Phidias. Beautiful as a statue, she resembled 
nothing more than a statue astonished at its nudity, 
and she would have been, I am sure, very surprised 
if a jealous lover had forbidden her to let herself to 
be seen thus in her bathroom, raising the water, like 
a sea-nymph, with her shoulders and white bosom. 

George made everybody around her clean except 

Harel. 

***** 

At this period, George still possessed magnificent 
diamonds, and, among others, the gems which 
Napoleon had given her, which were each w^orth 
very nearly twelve thousand francs. She had them 
made into earrings, and wore them in preference to 
everything else. These gems were so large that very 



APPENDIX 301 

often George, on returning at night after having 
played, removed them, complaining that they were 
making her ears long. 

One evening we returned and sat down to supper. 
The supper ended, some almonds were eaten. 
George ate a good many of them, and all the time 
she was eating she complained of the weight of the 
gems, and took them from her ears and placed 
them on the cloth. 

Five minutes afterwards the servant came with 
her brush, cleared the table, and swept the gems 
into a basket with the almond shells, and threw 
almonds and gems out of the window into the street. 

George went to bed without thinking of her 
ear-rings, and slept soundly, which she would not 
have done, philosopher though she was, if she had 
known that her servant had thrown twenty-four 
thousand francs' worth of diamonds into the street. 

The next day, the young George entered her 
sister's room and awakes her. 

" Well," she said, " you can boast about your 
luck. Look what I have just found." 

" What's that ? " 

" One of your ear-rings." 

" Where did you find it ? " 

" In the street." 

" In the street ? " 

" As I tell you, my dear. In the street, at the 
door. You lost it on returning from the theatre." 

" No, I had them at supper." 

" Are you sure of it ? " 



302 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

" As a proof, they were bothering me, and I took 
them out and placed them by me. What did I do 
with them afterwards ? Where did I put them ? " 

" Heavens ! " cried the young George ; " I re- 
member. We were eating almonds, and the 
servant cleared the table with her brush." 

" Ah, my poor gems ! " cried George in her turn. 
" Go down quickly, Bebelle." 

Bebelle was already at the foot of the stairs. 
Five minutes afterwards she returned with the 
second gem. She had found it in the gutter. 

"Dear friend," she said to her sister, "we are 
too lucky. Have a Mass said, or else some great 
misfortune will happen to us." 

Les Belles Femmes de Paris, by 3Ien of Letters 
and Men of the World, Paris, 1839. 

Mlle. George 

Mile. George has been beautiful for a very long 
time, and one could say of her what the peasant 
said to Aristides : "I banish you because I am 
tired of hearing you called just." We will not do 
like the Greek clown, since it is obviously more 
difficult to be always beautiful than to be always 
just. However, Mlle. George seems to have 
solved this important problem. The years glide 
over her marble face without altering any of the 
purity of its profile of a Greek Melpomene. 

Her preservation is miraculous and quite different 
from that of Mlle. INlars, who is not in the least 



APPENDIX 303 

preserved, and can no longer produce an illusion 
in the parts of leading juvenile than the trades- 
men of the Republic can to the generals of the 
Empire. 

In spite of the exaggerated number of jewels 
she wears, Mile. George is really beautiful, and 
very beautiful. She resembles closely a Syracusan 
medal, or an Isis from the bas-reliefs of Mgina.. 

The arc of her eyebrows, traced with incom- 
parable purity and fineness, stretches over two 
black eyes full of fire and tragic brilliance ; the 
nose is narrow and straight, cut by oblique nostrils 
passionately dilated, and joins the forehead with 
a line of magnificent simplicity. The mouth is 
powerful, bent at the corners, and superbly dis- 
dainful, like that of an avenging Nemesis waiting 
the hour to unmuzzle her lion with his brazen 
talons. However, this mouth has charming smiles, 
expanding with quite imperial grace, and one 
would not remark, when she wishes to express 
tender passions, that she had just launched an 
ancient imprecation or a modern anathema. 

The chin, full of strength and resolution, rises 
firmly, and by a majestic contour terminates the pro- 
file, which is more that of a goddess than a woman. 

Like all the beautiful women of the pagan age. 
Mile. George has a full, broad forehead, swelling 
at the temples, but not at all lofty, very similar to 
that of the Venus de Milo — a free, voluptuous, 
powerful forehead, which is equally suitable for 
Clytemnestra and for INIessalina. 



304 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

A remarkable singularity of Mile. George's neck 
is that, instead of rounding inside the nape, it forms 
a swollen contour which leaves the shoulders at the 
bottom of the head without any sinuousness, a 
diagnosis of athletic temperament developed at its 
highest point in the Farnesian Hercules. 

The attachment of the arms is somewhat 
formidable for vigour of muscle and violence of 
contour. One of their bracelets would form a 
belt for a woman of slight figure ; but they are 
very white and pure, terminated by a wrist of 
childish delicacy and tiny hands covered with 
dimples — true royal hands, made to bear the 
sceptre and clasp the sword-hilt of iEschylus and 
Euripides. 

Mile. George seems to belong to a prodigious 
and vanished race. She astonishes you as much 
as she charms you. One would call her a wife 
of Titan, a Cybele, mother of gods and men, 
with her crown of embattled towers. Her con- 
struction has something Cyclopean and Pelasgian. 
One feels on seeing her that she remains above 
like a column of granite, to bear witness to an 
amiihilated generation, and that she is the last 
representative of the epic and superhuman type. 

She is an admirable statue to place on the tomb 
of tragedy, buried for ever. 

Theophile Gautier. 

{This article is rep?^oduced in the volume of 
" Portraits Contemporains,'' by Theophile Gautier^ 
one voLy 187 A.) 



APPENDIX 305 



Theophile Gautier 

Italiens. — Farewell 'performance of Mile. 
George, May 21, 1849. 

Never was a dramatic career better filled than 
that of INllle. George. Endowed with a beauty 
which appears to belong to a vanished race, and 
to have transformed the hardness of marble into 
a thing usually so fragile and fugitive that its 
natural comparison is a flower, ]\Ille. George has 
rendered equal services to both schools. No one 
has played drama better ; the classicist and 
romanticist acclaim her exclusively. " What a 
Clytemnestra ! " cries the one. " What a Lucretia 
Borgia ! " exclaims the other. Racine and Hugo 
avow her for their priestess, and confide their 
greatest characters to her. 

By the sculptural purity of her features, by that 

natural majesty which has consecrated her Queen 

of the Theatre in the age of the ingenues, by 

that imposing aspect of which the ^lelpomene of 

A^elletri gives an idea, she was the most complete 

realisation of the dream of the tragic IVIuse ; as much 

by her sonorous and profound voice, her imperious 

air, her natural and haughty gestures, her glance full 

of black threats or enervating charms, as through 

something violent and bold, familiarly haughty 

and simply terrible, she would have seemed to 

Shakespeare the heroine expressly formed for his 

vast dramas. 

u 



306 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

For a long time a like Agrippina and a similar 
Clytemnestra will not be seen ; neither will Lu- 
cretia Borgia nor INIary Tudor find an interpreter 
of that strength. The memory of Mile. George 
will always be associated with those two formid- 
able parts, where she has really collaborated with 
the poet, and those who have not seen the 
two pieces played by the great actress will not 
understand as well their irresistible, immense 
effect. 



Let us return to this curious and triumphant 
performance, where a rare phenomenon was pro- 
duced — that of a rising sun and a setting sun 
confronting each other ; that is to say, Mile. 
Rachel and Mile. George, the flower w^hich waxes, 
the splendour which is being enveloped in shadows ; 
hope and memory, yesterday and to-morrow, good- 
day and good-night. It was a fine tussle, that of 
the two women. Both were the glory of the 
theatre. The one was admired by our fathers, the 
other our sons will admire. It was an interesting 
spectacle, this battle of tragedy, with great blows 
of Alexandrines, where no one was conquered. 

The breaks of song and dance, and an air by 
Mme. Pauline Viardot-Garcia, added still more to 
the powerful attraction of those names, Rachel and 
George — Rachel, who is playing for the last time 
before going on leave ; George, who will never play 
again. 



APPENDIX 307 



AuGUSTE Vacquerie {Profils et Grimaces, 4th 
edition, one vol. 8vo. Paris : Pagne7ie, 1864, 
pp. 270 seq.) 

THE WRONG SIDE OF TRAGEDY 

A singular fact took place yesterday. Mile. 
George and Mile. Rachel were both hissed. 

It was the farewell performance of Mile. George. 
On Wednesday Mme. Dorval was buried, in the 
same week Mile. George retires — another death. 
Retirement is the first tomb of actresses. When 
they are not every evening under the regard of 
the crowd they adore, moved, applauded and 
illuminated by the footlights and poesy, mixing 
in their swelling souls genius and the people, they 
are nothing but a shadow of themselves — they no 
longer exist, they languish. Their real world is 
the world of dream, their ideal region is where the 
immortal ghosts of poets pass ; this they breathe 
with full lungs. Nothingness begins for them in 
reality, in the street, in the home, in trees and 
springs. Their night is the sun. Life is their 
death. 

Mile. Rachel had not been to Mme. Dorval's 
funeral. She had not deigned to accompany 
that Bohemian, that dishevelled, inspired, insolent 
creature ! But Mile. George before playing drama 
had played tragedy. Athalie obtained the favour 
of Mary Tudor. 



308 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

The two remaining tragediennes were going to 
find themselves together for the first and last time 
— sunset and noon, the complete tragedy, past and 
present. The future was wanting, but tragedy has 
none. 

Everything she has she was giving — Mile. 
George, Mile. Rachel and Racine ! For the 
feast would not have been complete with Corneille. 
The conjunction of the two tragic constellations 
took place in Ipliigenie. The ancients of the stalls 
of the Theatre-Fran^ais were to be seen weeping 
in the street before the notice, drying a tear 
with their handkerchiefs, and smearing their eyes 
with snufF. 

The prodigious day arrived. The theatre has 
not been overwhelmed by an earthquake. The 
doors are opened, and the curtain has been 
raised. 

Mile. Rachel, who was playing Eriphyles, appeared 
first, and was properly applauded on her entrance. 
She spoke with much fairness the recital of the 
taking of Lesbos, her hatred of Achilles before 
having seen him, and the melting of her anger at 
the first glance of the " amiable hero." Here and 
there there was clapping. 

When JNIUe. George entered the tumult was 
quite different. A triple salvo made the house 
tremble, then during the whole scene the transports 
continued, and all the verses were punctuated with 
cheers. 

The friends of ^Ille. Rachel were piqued at this 



APPENDIX 309 

inequality in the distribution of applause. They 
said that in a way Mile. George was in her own 
home, that the performance, being for her benefit, 
the public must be principally composed of her 
friends, and that such a moderate reception given 
to a stranger, in face of the triumph awarded to the 
mistress of the house, above all when the stranger 
had come to do her a service, offended altogether 
hospitality and gratitude. 

Exasperation seized them, so much so, that at 
the third act, when Mile. George reappeared, a 
violent outbreak of hissing was to be heard. 

There was a tumult, cries of anger, a tempest of 
acclamation, and a shower of bouquets. A wily 
friend could not have imagined a better plan to 
obtain an ovation for Mile. George. 

If this stupid hissing had only produced an 
increased success for the regretted actress to 
whom such a splendid good-bye was being said, 
unfortunately the reply was not far off. 

Mile. George's party made reprisals at the second 
entry of Mile. Rachel, and Eriphyle received 
full in the face a hissing no less sharp than 
Clytemnestra. 

There was some applause in protest, but the 
tribe of Mile. Rachel was not in number, conse- 
quently JMlle. Rachel lost countenance a little, and 
no longer played the end of her part as at the 
beginning. Meanwhile, Mile. George, escorted by 
the general sympathy, expanded more and more in 
the amplification of her beauty and talent ; Mile. 



310 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Rachel, abandoned, deserted and alone, retired 
and disappeared. 

Thus the mot was realised which Mile. Rachel 
said herself, when Victor Hugo was giving les 
Hurgraves at the Theatre-Francais, and for a 
moment there was a question of engaging Mile. 
George to play Guanhumara. Mile. Rachel opposed 
the engagement, and on that occasion made this 
intelligent remark : " The day on which Mile. 
George is at the Theatre-Fran9ais I shall be 
nothing more than a statuette." 

The ancients of tragedy v/ept under their 
spectacles. As for me, I was very happy. 

Everything ends, even tragedies. The curtain is 
lowered, and the two actresses are called. Mile. 
Rachel refused to appear. 

Then Mme. Viardot lent her powerful and subtle 
voice to some Spanish airs full of originality; 
then Mile. Plunked recited intelligently a charming 
little poem ; then h Moineau de Lesbie (Lesbia's 
Sparrow) was expected, which was to end the bill. 
But instead of the mistress of CatuUus, a black 
gentleman presented himself, advanced to the 
footlights, and after the customary three bows 
announced that Mile. Rachel was too fatigued to 
play. 

Mile. Rachel must have been scarcely flattered 
by the effect produced at this breaking of her word. 
Nobody called her back. The black gentleman 
having added that Mme. Viardot offered to sing 
another air to replace le Moineau de Lesbie, cheers 



APPENDIX 311 

broke out, as if there had been a gain from the 
change, and some one even said, " They only 
owed us a sparrow, and now they are giving us a 
nightingale ! " 

So thus it is that Comedy must always take a 
part. Tragedy says to her, " Away with you ! " 
but Comedy does not go. Chased from the stage 
she comes into the house, and the pit supplements 
the author. 

There is the piece, but there is the performance ; 
there is the heroine, but there is the actress. O 
Clytemnestra of the terrible profile ! O sinister 
Eriphyle ! O strolling players ! 

May 1849. 

Arsene Houssaye, Confessions of Half-a-century 
{les Confessions dun Demi-siecle), 1830-1899. 
Vol. Vi, p. 29. 

During a complete period beauty was de rigueur 
at the Theatre-Fran9ais. All actresses of talent 
had to be beautiful. That was my programme. 
I can still recall that radiant decameron which 
succeeded the two incomparable beauties. Mile. 
Mars and Mile. George. Those two great actresses, 
worthy of history, are not forgotten. One can say 
that one lives again more or less with posterity 
according to the place conquered in the memory of 
one's contemporaries ; or it is better to say that if 
the future does not always accept the enthusiasms 
of the past, it always takes stock of them. 



312 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

Mile. George had been given a last farewell per- 
formance. She wanted to return to the stage ; I 
begged her to remain behind the scenes. She said 
to me, with a bitter smile, " Ah, if I were ten years 
younger you wouldn't sing that song to me, because 
I would give you one of those talkings-to a man 
always remembers." 

She was then eighty ! 

Very fortunate are those who die under the 
theatrical sky. As soon as actresses are no longer 
in the smiling circle, as soon as lovers leave them, 
fortune goes back. 

Mile. Guimard, who refused the hand of a 
prince in the splendid times when she had an 
entertainment hall and a winter garden in her 
mansion, was glad in the end to marry a professor 
of the graces, that is to say, a dancing-master. 
Sophie Arnauld, after having passed through all 
the splendours of an unparalleled luxury, goes 
without complaining to ask shelter and bread from 
her hairdresser. Mile. Clairon, who lived like a 
queen and a sultana, found herself at sixty-five 
reduced to patching her tattered dresses — she who 
had never condescended to keep a needle ! Insolent 
in good fortune, she had also the pluck to be proud 
in her poverty. When an old friend went to see 
her she still spoke of her high relations, and in- 
stead of saying, " I am poor," she said, " I am a 
philosopher." 

If this had been the real performance on retiring 



APPENDIX 313 

of Mile. George, it was, so to speak, another retire- 
ment into another world ! 

She owed it to herself, in memory of her beauty 
and glittering renown, no more to show her ruins 
on the stage — it is unlucky to look at night- 
birds ! 

Jules Janin, Queens of the World (les Reines du 
Monde), 1 vol. in 4to. Ch. Lahune & Co., 
1862. Mile. George, pp. 1 seg. 

Jules Janin had been a lover of Geoige's, and 
has dedicated some beautiful pages to her. From 
these pages we detach the following extracts. 

For her Alexandre Dumas wrote that story of 
horror and gloom entitled la Tour de JVesle, one of 
the shocks of the century. Ah, how terrible and 
desperate she was in it ! With what ardour she 
precipitated herself into that fierce fray, and into 
the crimes and abominable stories where chance 
is a god and the impossible a force. Moreover, a 
strange thing, she found the gestures and the 
accent for all those works so different to everything 
which had been the object of her cult and studies. 
A daughter of tradition through classical works, she 
had, in turn, the living tradition of the new drama, 
and by her example and the recollections she 
left, she still shows to-day the way which leads to 
the romantic realms. She left her traces as much 
as Boccaccio amidst the bloody shadows and 



314 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

stories of the Middle Ages. Before creating Mar- 
guerite de Bourgogne she had performed, in all the 
varied and diverse phases of her life abandoned to 
every chance, the Qiieen Christine of Sweden, still 
a strange and new drama by Alexandre Dumas, a 
young man intoxicated with every fever of style 
and innovation. 

As this Christine, at twenty and at sixty, passing 
through every phase of authority, of abdication, of 
murder and vengeance, of youth and love. Mile. 
George displayed infinite resources ; she smiled and 
raged, she was queen and woman, she was power 
and abdication. 

These new dramas, which were of a style which 
did not know how to stop, and which demanded not 
less than four or five hours of infinite zeal, found 
Mile. George equal to such painful and grievous 
labour. Nothing could lessen her courage ; she was 
always ready, and with indefatigable step she passed 
through the outbreaks, passions, sorrows, despairs 
and great battles which held her audience attentive. 

Certainly it was no more the times of the parts 
of a moment, of tragedies in which two or three 
scenes sufficed for the popularity of an actor. 
Rodogune, Athalie, Clytemnestre, all three of them 
did not represent the trouble and work of a single 
Marie Tudor. 

In the implacable part of Marie Tudor, Mile. 
George mastered triumphantly the genius and 
intention of M. Victor Hugo, the absolute master 
of minds and souls. M. Victor Hugo had given 



APPENDIX 315 

the part of dona Sol and la Thisbe to Mile. Mars, 
and had created for Mme. Dorval the part of Cata- 
rina. He wrote for Mile. George those crimes, 
those miseries, those sorrows, Marie Tudoi^ and 
JLucrece Borgia — two imperishable memories ! 

She it was who was so terrible under the blows 
of bloody Mary ! She it was who was so pardonable 
at the moment when Lucretia Borgia remembers 
that she is a mother ! Certainly she was the 
woman " clever at enthusing the crowd for the 
great and the true," such as the poet had dreamed 
about. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

The praise is superb, and especially issuing from 
such a mouth. " Ah, then you take him ! Ah, 
your lover ! What does your, lover matter to me ? 
Are all the girls in England going to demand 
account from you of their lovers at this hour? 
Pardieu ! I protect mine as I can, and at any 
cost ! " Speaking thus she was fierce and touching 
at the same time. 

The poet has the same admiration and the same 
gratitude for Lucretia Borgia. M. Victor Hugo 
was himself alone the absolute judge of the way in 
which his great dreams were to be accomplished, 
and the day after the great battles, better than 
criticism itself, he took stock of the effect produced 
by his actors. 

^iK ^ ^ TIP 

She was admirable too, but it was a difficult 



316 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 

piece to give life to, in that Marechale d'Ancre 
which M. Alfred ^^igny conceived in one of his 
days of rage. At the same time she accepted 
gallantly, with joy and pride, all the dramas of the 
new school. One day she was la Brinvilliers, and 
the next Queen Caroline of England, or maybe 
she stopped in those paths of brambles and poetical 
laurels, and we see her become Lady Macbeth, 
Agrippina, Athalie and Rodogune. She played 
the Clytemnestra and Agrippina of Soumet, and 
did not disdain M. Arnault's dramas. Hers was 
a subtle and abundant talent, and a fruitful imagin- 
ation ; moreover, such bravery united to such 
imagination ; never tired and always ready ! 

One evening she defied, on her own closed field, 
Mile. Rachel, then in all the renown of life and 
the ardent apogee of her talent. She was playing 
Clytemnestra ; Mile. Rachel, Eriphyle. After the 
first courtesies, when the two rivals of a moment, 
Mile. Rachel in her apogee, IMlle. George in her 
decline, studied each other well, one saw them by 
tacit agreement each summon to her side all her 
forces and fight freely as to who should triumph in 
the admiration of that attentive audience. Then 
the pupil of Mile. Raucourt was to be seen recalling 
to herself all her superb beauty, and with her grand 
gestures and sovereign voice crush the frail Eri- 
phyle, who fights in vain against that strength and 
irresistible power. It was a great fight, and a 
memorable one for all ! But Clytemnestra was 
reaching the end of her path ; she could say, like 



APPENDIX 317 

the old wrestler in Virgil, " Here are my cestus and 
my disc, and all the weapons of my past bouts." 

To disappear after this great triumph, after 
having forced her young and unhappy rival to 
applaud her publicly, here was an unexpected 
fifth act, unhoped for in this famous work which 
comprises more than half-a-century of combats, of 
successes and of labours. 

J. Janin. 



INDEX 



Actor's art, Mile. George on, 49, 64-5, 

255-8. 
Alexander I, Tsar of Russia, admirer of 

Mile. George, 19, 33, 228, 233, 259. 
Arnould, Sophie Mme., 16, 217, 312. 

Bacciochi, Mme., 78, 79, 97, 251, 259. 

Bagratian, Princess, 230, 259. 

Beauharnaia, Eugene, 79, 251. 

Bernadotte (Prince Royal of Sweden), 21. 243, 
244-5, 246, 250, 260, 296-7. 

Bernhardt, Sarah, 32. 

Bessieres, General, aide-de-camp to Napo- 
leon, 153-4. 

Bonaparte, Lucion, 33, 78, 97, 103-4, 251, 
293, 296. 

Bonaparte, Napoleon. See Napoleon Bona- 
parte. 

Bonaparte, Mme. (Napoleon's mother), 78. 

Bourgoin, Ther^se Mile., 17, 116, 143-5, 
200-3, 261. 

Branchu, Mme., favoured by Napoleon, 17. 

Catharine, Grand Duchess, of Russia, 

receives Mile. George, 233. 
Caulaincourt, General Duke of Vicense), 

21, 153-4, 251. 
Charles X, 253, 261. 
Clairon, Mile., 15, 48, 70-2, 77, 312. 
Cobentzel, 230, 269. 

Constantino, Grand Duke, of Russia, 19. 
Contat, Mme., 45, 84, 92, 143, 218-23, 254, 

293. 

Dalmas, 135-6. 

Daziucourt, Joseph, 55, 293. 

de Beckendorf, Count, aide-de-camp to 

Emperor Alexander, lover of Mile. George, 

19, 33, 228. 
de Berry, Duke, 260. 
de Camps, M., 243-4, 250; entrusts letter 

from Bernadotte to Jerome to Mile. 

George, 297. 
de Duras, Duke, dismisses Mile. George 

from Com6die-Fran(;aise on account of her 

Bonapartist sentiments, 22, 189, 260, 282. 
de la Bouillerie, M., procures rights of 

Odeon for Harel, 253. 
Delacroix, Eugene, 25. 
de Ligne, Prince, 230, 259. 
de Livry, Count, 101. 
de Manne, on Mile. George as artiste, 31. 
de Moutesson, Mme., 87. 
de Parny, M., 219. 
de Ponty, Mme., 45, 68, 67, 124. 



de Rerausat, Mme., her reminiscences of 

Mile. George, 286-9. 
de Stael, Mme., her meetings with Mile. 

George, 231, 240-1, 244, 247-8, 254, 259. 
de Talleyrand, 33, 158-60, 16G-7, 251, 255. 
de Talleyrand, Mme., 57. 
de Valence, General, 87. 
de Veuil, Marquis, visits Mile. George, 

101-2. 
de Vigny, Alfred, 262 note, 316. 
Devienne, Mile., 65, 212. 
Devonshire, Duke of, welcomes Mile. George 

to London, 268. 
d'H6nin, Prince, 57, 90. 
Dorval, Mme., 262 note, 307. 
Dublin, M., designer at the Theatre- Fran- 

Qais, 83. 
Duchesnois, Mile., 15, 17, 65, 67, 86-9, 94, 

101, 189, 261, 282, 293. 
Dugazon, Mme., 14, 38, 50, 65, 65, 82, 93, 

224, 203. 
Dumas, Alexandre, v ; his reminiscences of 

Mile. George, 22, 23, 31, 32, 261, 289-302, 

313. 
Dumesnil, Mile., 72-8. 

Fitz-Jamks, Duke of, 90. 

Pleury, Abraham-Joseph, 61, 117, 201-3, 

212, 292-3. 
Pleury, Marie Anne, 47-9. 

Garrick, David, 220-1. 

Gautier, Theophile, 27 ; letters of Mile. 
George to, 268-70, 273-4, 275 ; description 
of Mile. George, 299, 302-7. 

Gay, Mme., 219. 

Gentil, M., letter from Mile. George to, 
266-7. 

Geoffroy, his criticisms of Mile. George, 15, 
30, 283-5, 294. 

George, Mile. (Marguerite-Josephine Wey- 
mer) : birtli, 14, 35 ; parents, 14, 36-41 ; 
debut at five, 14, 36 ; childhood days, 
3S-42 ; to Paris with Mile. Raucoui-t, 14, 
44, 290 ; theatrical life in Paris, 47-57, 84- 
6 ; proposal from actor Lafont, 59-63 ; 
visits to Josephine, 66-9 ; d^but at 
Comedie-Francaise, 14, 90, 263-4, 281-5 ; 
rivalry with Mile. Duchesnois, 88 note, 
100-1 ; relations with Prince Sapieha, 
102-6 ; first interview with Napoleon, 
114-25 ; second and third visits to Saint- 
Cloud, 128-40 ; with Napoleon at hunting- 
lodge at Butard, 153-7 ; progress of liaison 
with Napoleon, 157-77 ; visit from Prince 



818 



INDEX 



319 



of Wiirtemberg, 177-9 ; Captain Hill ap- 
proaolies her on behalf of Prince of Wales, 
181-8 ; last interviews with Napoleon, 
189-208 ; she tires of Coniedie-Frangaisc, 
208-23; visits Austria, Russia and Sweden, 
19-21, 228-50 ; returns to Paris, 251 ; 
visits London, 258 ; her career under the 
Bourbons, 260-1 ; summary of her 
Memoirs, 2oS-&2 ; her correspondence, 
264-76 ; reminiscences of Mile, de Re- 
musat, Dumas, Gautier and others, 285- 
317 ; her personal appearance, 30-2, 299- 
300, 302-5 ; her generous character, 24-5, 
26, 28, 32, 34 ; portraits of, x, 31 ; on the 
actor's art, 255-8. 
Guimard, Mile., 312. 

Halevy, Ludovic, his anecdote of Mile. 

George and Najioleon III, 29. 
Harel, Mile. George's manager and lover, 

23, 33, 253, 261 ; correspondence with 

Mile. George, 268-9, 273, 276-7, 300. 
Hill, Captain, approaches Mile. George on 

behalf of Prince of Wales, ISl-S. 
Hortense, Queen, her beauty and kindness, 

79, 199, 251. 
Houssaye, Arsene, on Mile. George, 311-13. 
Hugo, Victor, his great tragic characters 

created by Mile. George, 23, 32, 33, 261, 

262 note, 306, 310, 314-15. 

Janin, Jules, 33, 255 ; letters of Mile. George 
to, 269, 270, 275, 299 ; on Mile. George, 
313-17. 

Jerome, King of Westphalia, admirer of 
Mile. George, 33, 296 ; she carries letter 
from Bernadotte to him at Brunswick, 
297-8. 

Josepliine, Empress, Napoleon's feeling for, 
16 ; lier first reception of Mile. George, 
66 ; at debut of Mile. George, 90-4 ; Mile. 
George's estimate of her appearance and 
character, 199-200 ; with Napoleon at 
command performance of Cinna after their 
Coronation, 203-5, 227 ; her rivals in the 
affections of Napoleon, 208 ; her intimacy 
with Mile. Raucourt, 254-5 ; her jealousy 
of Mlle.George's interviews withNapoleon, 
286-9. 

Junot, General, 118, 153-4. 

Lafont, 51, 52, 59-60, 63, 91, 188, 201-3, 
261, 264. 

La Rive, Jean Maudit, 47, 51, 71. 

Lauriston, General, aide-de-camp to Napo- 
leon, 153-4, 260, 261, 266. 

LeipsiL', Battle of, 21. 

Lekuin, 216-17, 222. 

Lemaltre, Frederick, v, 24. 

Lemercier, letter from Mile. George to, 
264-6. 

Leverd, Mile., favoured by Napoleon, 17. 

London, Mile. George's visits to, 258, 260. 

Louis XVIII, Mile. George's audiences with, 
260, 261. 

Lowenstein, General, his memoirs concern- 
ing Mile. George at the Russian Court, 20. 

Marie Antoikette, reminiscences of, by 
Florence, manager of Coniedie-Francaise, 
214-16. 

Marie Louise, Napoleon's feeling for, 16. 



Mars, Mile., x, 50, 116, 142-8, 200-3, 212i 

214, 220, 293, 298, 303, 315. 
Masson, Frederic, on Napoleon's favouritism 

towards Mile. George, 21-2. 
Men6trier, on Mile. George as artiste, 31. 
Metternich, Prince, Austrian Ambassador, 

his unconventional conversations with 

MUo. George, 210-10. 
Michot, 50. 

Mirecourt, Eugene de, 13, 26-7. 
Mole, Frangois-Reni, 55, 82, 224, 292-3. 
Monvel, Jacques-Marie, S3, 224, 293. 
Moscow, Battle of, 20. 
Murat, an admirer of Mile. George, 33 ; his 

visit to MUe.George on behalf of Napoleon, 

190-2. 

Napoleon Bonapartb, his attitude towards 
women, 15-18 ; his tender, playful ways, 
18, 129, 149, 156, 173, 181 ; Mile. George's 
passionate cult of, 21-2, 113-14, 179-81 ; 
Josephine offers to interest him in Mile. 
George, 69 ; at Mile. George's debut, 
90-3 ; sends her a remittance, 95 ; his 
taste for tragedy, 113, 226-7; his first 
interview with Mile. George, 114-25 ; 
second and third interviews, 128-40 ; his 
reputation for rudeness not borne out by 
Mile. George, 149 ; with Mile. George at 
hunting lodge at Butard, 153-7 ; progress 
of liaison with Mile. George, 157-77 ; his 
criticism of her acting, 161 ; his visit to 
camp at Boulogne, 166-70 ; last interviews 
with Mile. George, 189-208 ; his Corona- 
tion, 193, 197; at Dresden, 21, 259-60; 
departure for Elba, 260 ; in 1815, 22, 251 ; 
departure for St. Helena, 22, 289; relations 
with Mile. George, i-eminiscences of Mile, 
do Renmsat, 286-9. 

Napoleon III, Mile. George and, 29. 

Nariskine, Mme., mistress of Tsar Alex- 
ander, 20. 

Oscar, Prince, of Sweden, admirer of Mile. 

George, 245-50. 
Otranto, Duke of, 21. 
Onvrard, M. , Mile. George's visits to, at 

Raincy, 211-14. 

Rachel, Mile., v, 25-7, 32, 274-5, 306-11, 
316. 

Raucourt, Mile., her appearance and 
character, 42-3 ; takes Mile. George to 
Paris as her pupil, 14, 44, 290 ; her judg- 
ment of her pupil, 32 ; performances 
and lessons at the Comedie-Frangaise, 45, 
51, 56-7 ; takes Mile. George to Orleans, 
59-65 ; bustle and excitement in Paris, 
65-87 ; she presents Mile. George at 
Comedie - Frangaise, 89-93, 124, 128; 
her intimacy with Empress Josephine, 
254-5, 25S-9 ; letter from, concerning 
debuts of Mile. George, 263-4, 285 ; 
Dumas' reminiscences of, 290-6. 

R^camier, Mme., Mme. de Stael's anecdote 
of, 254. 

Roederer, M., 81. 

Rousseau, 15. 

St. PETEKSBURn, Mllo. George's stay at, 

19-21, 233-4, 282, 296. 
Saint-Phal, Etienne Meynier, 47-9, 293. 



320 



INDEX 



S|aint-Prix, Jean, 01. 

Sapielia, Prince, his relations with Mile. 

George, 15, 102-0, 115, 121, 124, 128. 
Sardou, Victorian, reminiscences of Mile. 

George, 33, 277-0. 
Stael, Mme. de. See de Statil. 
Stenilhal, 16, 17. 
Stockholm, Mile. George's visit to, 242-50, 

250. 
Sweden, King and Queen of, 249-50, 259, 

296-7. 

Talleyeand. So: de Talleyrand. 

Tallien, Mnie., 57, 291. 

Talma, Frangois Joseph, 15, 51, 53, 83-4, 
91, 113, 116, 125-7, 132-7, 140-8, 107-70, 
188, 105-7, 201-6, 212, 216, 220-3, 228, 
252, 250-60, 293. 

Talma, Mme. (Caroline Vanhove), 48, 49, 
83, 91. 

Tcherulche9',his intrigues with Mile. George, 
229. 

Tlieuard, mere, 144, 200-3. 

Thierry, Edouard,on Mile. George in old age, 
28. 

Tilly, Mile., letters of Mile. George to, 
267-8. 

Tolstoy, Count, Russian Ambassador, per- 
suades Mile. George to visit Eussia, 19, 
228. 

Vacquerie, Auguste, on Mile. George, 27, 

307-11. 
Valmore, M., asides addressed to, by Mile. 



George in the course of the Memoirs, viii- 
ix, 62, 67, 79, 81, 87, 80, 96, 107, 112, 118, 
132, 146, 157, 160, 162-3, 166-7, 170, 178, 
180-1, 18S-9, 193, 109, 217, 220, 224, 232-3, 
235, 250-1. 

Valmore, Mme. Marceline Desbordes-, asides 
addressed to, vlii, 62, 67, 90, 06, 107, 120, 
122, 126, 138, 144, 151-2, 153, 160, 162-3, 
172-3, 176, 180-1, 188, 193, 195, 202-3, 208- 
0, 211, 220, 224, 247, 253-4. 

Vanhove, Mile. See Talma, Mme. 

Veuil, Marquis de. See de Veuil, Marquis. 

Vienna, Mile. George's visit to, 230-2. 

Volnais, Mile., 52, 116, 118. 

Voltaire, 77. 

Wales, Prince of (George I V),seeks relations 

witli Mile. George, 181-8. 
Weymer, Charles, brother of Mile. George, 

35, 37, 57, 66, 90, 02, 108. 
Weymer, George, father of Mile. George : 

origin and character, 14, 36-7, 38, 42; 

trains Mile. George for stage, 36-41 ; 

leaves his family in Paris, 46 ; his affairs 

at Amiens, 57, 82, 93 ; his death reported 

by his daughter's stage rival, 100-1, 108 ; 

accompanies Mile. George to Russia and 

Sweden, 2:-i7-0 ; Dumas on, 200. 
Weymer, Mme. (Mile. Verteuil), mother of 

Mile. George : character, 35-7 ; 40, 42, 

80, 94, 96, 98-9, 225 ; death, 229-30 ; 

Dumas on, 292-3. 
Wtirtemherg, Prince of. Mile. George's 

receptions of, 33, 177-9, 234. 



Richard Clay <Si Soru, Limited, London and Bungay. 



NOV 2 2 1909 



KKNTANO'S 
rllcra ti 8MUoavrH, 



